


The Prodigal

by Chibihaku



Series: Kalasin Lavellan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, I despise tagging my own work, Multi-chaptered fic, Re-Education
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:11:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibihaku/pseuds/Chibihaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Corypheus, Skyhold is preparing for the inauguration of Cassandra as the new Divine. All is relatively quiet until a qunari spy comes to the tavern one night and presents Bull with an interesting piece of information - the qunari want him back.</p><p>What the spy failed to mention, however, was that Bull had no choice in the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posting this one from Tumblr in order to try and bring some organisation into my fics. 
> 
> I will content warn as necessary because some chapters of this are going to get... pretty dark.

There was a spy in the Herald’s Rest.

That, Bull admitted, wasn’t that rare of an occurrence, even discounting all of the spies that worked for Red. Usually, it was a matter of watching them watch everyone else, take note of what they talked about, report to Red in the morning. Usually, they tried to be obtuse, tried not to grab the attention of any one person. Usually, they had a few drinks and sat back and watched. Spoke, when Cabot started to take stock on how quiet they were. Never drank enough to get drunk, but always looked like they were drinking, even when the same pint could last them hours. Most never even knew that Bull noticed.

This spy wanted Bull to notice.

It was in the way they moved, a subtle focus of actions that would grab Bull’s attention and hold it – the slightly too loud clunk of a tankard on a table in hands far too steady to make the noise; a quick cast of eyes about the room, but never focusing too long on any one person; the way they leant forward ever so slightly, weight on the balls of their feet ready to flee. All marks that an inexperienced spy would show, but only ever one or two.

This guy was telegraphing. And he was telegraphing in a very specific direction.

Bull stood, shambled to the bar with a wave of his tankard and a shrug when Krem gave him a querying look. “Hey, Cabot!” He shouted, “A round for me and my friend here.” He slapped the spy on the back and let out a laugh, studying the man as he did so. He was an elf, lithe and light skinned, with dark hair and sharp green eyes. No vallaslin, which was surprising, but also no scars and blemishes, which was even more so. He gave the man a crooked grin when he looked up. _Yes, I noticed you’re here. What do you want?_

A sneer settled in around the spy’s mouth and he stopped forward over the bar, arms folded.

Bull leant back against the counter so he could see the man out of his good eye while still managing to keep the entire room in view. Before either spy could continue the conversation, however, Cabot spoke from behind them.

“Ain’t gonna get you a drink until you pay your tab, Mercenary.”

“Eh, take it up with the Boss.”

“I did.” The dwarf replied, “She said she ain’t gonna pay your tab either. Her exact words were ‘I pay him exorbitant amounts of money to hit things, I’m not going to pay for his drinking habit too.” The dwarf’s impression of the Boss’s gentle, lilting voice was surprisingly good.

“She knew I was expensive when she hired me.”

“Yeah, and she also told me to tell you that you didn’t become more expensive just because you’re bedding her.”

“Shit, did she really?” Bull was almost impressed.

“No.”

Bull let out a booming laugh as Cabot walked away down the bar, picking up one of the two tankards of ale the dwarf had left behind, even for all his grumbling. The elf scowled at the other.

“It’s swill, but it’s not poison.” Bull told him - _I’m not going to kill you_.

The elf grunted and took a sip. He grimaced. “Is this the best this tavern’s got? My local is much better.” _I’ve an offer for you_.

“Best that Cabot’s willing to give me while I’ve still got an unpaid tab.” _I’ve got ties here. This better be good_.

The problem with being a spy was that you learnt early on to speak another language. It was one that relied on inference and while Bull was good at reading double meanings he was also prone to occasionally getting them wrong. It was part of the reason why he preferred his normal brand to this sit-down, double-entendre shit – it was easier to hit things and talk about it than it was to talk about it and then hit things when things went wrong.

More fun, too.

“There’s a vintage from Par Vollen they do, but it’s difficult to get a good supply.” Said the elf, tense and wary. “Once you run out, you’re usually out for good.” Bull frowned as he watched the man take another swallow from the tankard. The elf met his eye as he continued, “Sometimes, though, you can get another deal.” _The Qunari want you back_.

Outwardly, Bull remained completely at ease and relaxed. Inwardly, he fought his body as every muscle in it tried to clench at once. “Oh?” He asked, all easy grin and soft hands, “What’s it taste like?” … _In what capacity_?

The elf shrugged. “Smoky, mostly.” _I don’t know._

“Not what I remember the liquor tasting like back home.” Bull said, leaning back. “Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve been there.” He took a mouthful of his own drink. “Shit, Cabot, what did you put in this, dragon piss?”

“The Inquisitor presented me with the bottle as a joke.” The dwarf shot back over the bar, completely deadpan.

The elf snarled. “It’s a short-time offer, Tal-Vashoth.” He spat in Qunlat as he slammed a fistful of coins onto the bar and stood. “I advise you decide quickly.”

Bull raised his eyebrow and calmly took another mouthful of his drink. “I’d advise you not to break character next time, but that would fall on deaf ears.” He shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

The other spy snarled and lunged at him, knife flashing asit appeared in his hand from a hidden sheath. Bull sighed and reached out withthe hand not holding his drink, grabbed the elf’s vest and used his momentum to drag him safely past. Then he straightened and pivoted (his ankle gave a twinge of discomfort that he ignored) and slammed the elf into the bar top. Using the moment of disorientation this granted him, Bull switched his grip to the young spy’s arm, twisted it up behind his back and pressed him down against the bar so he couldn’t move.

He put his tankard down and reached for the elf’s other hand, holding it still in an iron grip that made him drop the knife. When he spoke, it was in qunlat, “I said I’d think about it.”

The elf snarled something incomprehensible into the bar, Bull twisted his arm.

“That might be so, but your opinion doesn’t really matter here, does it?”

The elf let out a guttural sound and thrashed in Bull’s grip, turning his head so he could regard the other spy with an expression full of hatred. His hair fell across his pale features, and Bull noticed a slightly sickly, dizzy look in his eye (maybe he’d smacked down the poor boy with a bit too much enthusiasm, but how else would he learn?) He sighed, waiting for the inevitable.

Eventually, it came. The spy relaxed in his grip, going limp even as his expression remained full of bitter hatred. Bull became aware of the silence in the tavern as he let the elf up. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

The elf stooped and then straightened, blade twitching in his fingers, mouth fixed into a disgusted curl. The muscles of his shoulders bunched.

“Oh come on.” Bull snapped, rolling out his shoulders and tilting his head. “The least they could have done was sent me someone who was halfway trained.”

The elf paused, perhaps noticing for the first time the state of the bar. He was looking around, eyes wide, fearful and so very young, and he was seeing for the first time what Bull knew to be there.

At some point in the proceedings, Grim and Dalish had stepped forward and placed themselves at tactical positions around the room’s edge. Skinner was nearby, leaning against one of the tavern’s support pillars, throwing knife idly being used to pick a stubborn bit of dirt out from under her thumbnail. She would look bored, calculatingly so, and just a little hungry for a fight. Rocky and Stitches, too, would be somewhere visible, looking equally focused and equally menacing.

“Is there a problem, Chief?” Krem’s voice, cheerful and calm on his blind side, not betraying any expression that could be on his face.

Bull didn’t take his attention off the spy in front of him. “Is there?” He asked, his voice a razorblade wrapped in silk.

The elf cursed in qunlat and spat at Bull’s feet. If the tavern had been hushed before, it was silent now. Silent enough to hear the low creak of a bow being drawn. Taking a calculated risk, Bull flicked his eye up to the rafters of the tavern and shook his head minutely at Sera, even as he felt a slight rush of gratitude for the show of support.

“You have three days to consider, Tal-Vashoth,” The elf snapped in qunlat, “If you refuse, I am allowed to kill you.”

Bull raised an eyebrow at the likelihood of the young man succeeding at that particular mission.

He didn’t correct the elf. Instead, he switched to trade tongue and raised his voice loud enough for the bar to hear him. “yeah, yeah,” He drawled, “Get out before Skinner loses her temper.”

In his peripheral he watched as the woman heard her cue and straightened off the pole she was leaning against. She started to flick her dagger from hand to hand – she was positioned just so that light flickered off the blade from the fireplace with each toss.

The elven spy looked around the bar once more, spat again at Bull’s feet, and fled.

There was a pause in which the occupants of the tavern did nothing but stare, then Cabot’s voice carried over from somewhere in the tavern, “What have I told you about starting shit in my tavern, Mercenary?” He sounded almost bored.

Bull let out a booming laugh, “I’ve never started anything in your tavern, Cabot.” He said, leaning back against the bar once more and picking up his tankard from where he left it.

“Yeah, but you sodding well finish it.” The dwarf replied as, hesitantly, conversation started up once more.  
\---

It was almost with a sense of disappointment that Bull noticed that the Inquisitor was still awake. It was late, when he finally retired, but she was bent over her desk shuffling through a pile of papers almost as tall as she was. She didn’t look up when he entered, but a wan smile flickered across her face very briefly as he stepped towards her.

“I heard there was an incident at the tavern.” She signed whatever it was she was reading, shifting it to one side and pulling down another piece of parchment from the stack. “Cabot’s not too thrilled with you.”

Bull frowned and said nothing, stepping around the desk to place his hands on her shoulders. There was tension in them – she’d been stooped over the desk for a while. He dug his thumbs into the muscles underneath his hands, gratified when she sighed and tilted her head to give him better access.

“Stop trying to distract me – I’m your boss at the moment.”

“It wasn’t anything big.” Bull hedged, working away a tight knot. “He’s blowing it out of proportion.”

“There’s a crack in the bar top, apparently.”

“Oh for - I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“Because that doesn’t sound ominous at all.” She quipped, straightening her spine. He lifted his hands away from her neck so she could turn around to speak to him. “Who did you hit and why is Cabot telling me to ‘reign in my resident bedwarmer?’” She cringed at the wording of the last, but Bull didn’t take it personally – she was polite to a fault.

He stepped away from the desk to give her room to stand. “A spy.” Bull said at last, “Inexperienced. Thought he could take me.” He grunted, “He was wrong.”

“And why did the spy need to break the bar top instead of just being left to his own devices?”

Bull frowned and held her gaze because looking away would be an admission, and he wasn’t ready for that, even in a purely objective sense. Adding to the fact that there were other emotions here, topics they skirted around even when she wasn’t being the Inquisitor and was simply his Kadan, and it wasn’t something he was ready to tell her at this particular moment.

She caught it. Of course she did. Gone were the days where he could do what he pleased and get away with it. It might take her longer than he to get a read on someone’s tells, but once she did – well. There was a reason why she’d been sent to the Conclave as a spy.

But even though her mouth tugged down into a frown, her only reaction was to reach up and rest her hand against the scarred side of his face, the tips of her fingers sliding along the edge of his eye-patch. “Vhenan…” She breathed, and while her tone said she wasn’t happy, he knew she wouldn’t push.

He leant into her hand, just a little. “Not just yet,” He said, “Let me get a little distance first.”

“Alright, just –” She sighed, looking away. He brought his hand around to her chin and tugged her face back towards his. She gave a crooked smile and raised an eyebrow, genuine affection in her eyes. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

And there it was, the trust. It was something that baffled him, even now, even after everything that the two of them had done together. He understood it in the context of their relationship, but when it came to her work as the Inquisitor, he couldn’t help but feel that it was perhaps a little dangerous, this blind trust in a man who once felt no qualms about sharing her secrets to another source. Who had possibly been asked to do so again. “You know I won’t.”

“Liar.”

“All my life.” He’d meant it as a joke, something to break the mood that had settled in the air between them, but it came out laced with bitterness instead.

She blinked in surprise, Bull swore under his breath.

 _It’s getting too easy to be honest with her. She_ makes _it too easy to be honest._

He turned away from her and stepped towards the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. His back was to her, so he didn’t notice any shift in her position, but as his fingers slipped the buckle of his shoulder harness loose, her voice floated back to him through the silent room.

“What do you want me to do?”

Bull’s head jerked up as his harness fell to the floor with a soft thud. He turned his head so that he could see her and a shiver ran down his spine at what he saw. She was looking at him with a beautiful mixture of deference and directness, eyes half-lidded, pose eager and subservient.

He turned back towards her. “I thought you were my boss right now?”

She smiled, “Do you want me to be?”

Oh, he heard the question behind that, loud and clear. The question and the offer. He sat on the bed behind him and spread his arms in an invitation. She stepped into their circle, between his legs. He ghosted his hands over her shoulders and down her arms before bringing them up and around to fiddle with the very top button on her clothes.

“Are you sure?” He asked her, because in the past this had always been about her – her needs, her stress, her desire. This, though, this was something for him in its entirety, an offer made in such a way that he couldn’t tell – he couldn’t read her – if this was what she wanted, or something that she felt obligated to do.

Her subservient expression fell away like lightning, replaced with something a little wicked and a lot more eager. “If I wasn’t,” She said, “I wouldn’t have offered.”

He slipped the first button on her shirt free. “I’m not sure how careful I can be,” he warned her, sliding his hands down her body and to the backs of her thighs. He tugged her forward, she came willingly, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. _I want you, I don’t want to harm you_.

She bent forward and pressed her forehead against his own. Her eyes fluttered closed. “I trust you.”

He growled, pulling his head away from hers before burying his face in her throat, biting down hard enough to bruise. At the same time, he brought his hands up to her ass and squeezed, causing her to let out a high, strained noise at the suddenness of it, fingers clenching on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Her back arched, he dragged his hands up to her shoulder-blades, kissing the reddening spot his teeth had left behind. Her breath was hot and ragged next to his ear as she slumped slightly into him. He brought his hand around to her chin, tilting her head back so that he could meet her eyes. She smiled, shakily, at him – there was pain in her expression but no fear, only a low, burning heat.

“It’s alright, Bull.” She said in response to his unspoken question, “I’m alright.”

He ran his fingers over her cheek, marvelling at the way she pressed into his hand, even as he guided her down to the bed.

Oh, but she was a wonder, his Kadan.

—

After, she was sleepy and sprawled over his chest, head tucked under his chin. There was a blanket draped across the both of them, and a bowl of cooling water and a cloth off to one side that he had used to clean up.

It was quiet, content and comfortable – he ran his fingers idly up and down her back, other hand loosely wrapped around her forearm. “You okay?” He asked softly, pressing his nose into the crown of her head.

He felt her smile against his chest. She nodded, but didn’t speak. The bite on her neck was purpling into something almost impressive, and she idly kissed his collarbone as he looked at it.

An aeon seemed to pass, and almost no time at all, but she eventually propped herself up on her elbows so that she could look down at him. He raised his eyebrow, knowing the question that was coming, before she even spoke it aloud.

“I know I said I wouldn’t push, but…”

“You want to know what’s bothering me,” He finished.

He sighed, letting his hands fall still on her spine. She had distracted him incredibly well from his problem, letting him take control over her because he needed to, but now he knew her curiosity would set in. Even with the distance he had gained, the conversation with the spy still loomed in the forefront of his mind, and for her it would present a particularly nasty scab of a problem that she would want to pick at. She had her own brand of cleverness, asking questions, finding information, putting together the pieces. She also had a streak of politeness and infuriating calm that made more than one person chafe under her well-meaning cross-examinations.

She would help him look at the situation rationally, but it was one thing to know that she could help him, another to actually speak of it to her.

“Would it help if I put on my Inquisitor hat?” Her mouth languidly spread into a cheshire grin as he blinked at her. She tilted her head in the direction of her armour, standing idly to one side of the bed.

“That’s a helm, Kadan.”

“It’s very fetching.”

“I’ll get _distracted_ if you put on a helm in bed.”

“Maybe I should let you get distracted.” She ran her nails lightly over his collarbone. “The helm and nothing else, perhaps?”

“ _Kadan_.” He wasn’t sure if he meant it as a warning or an oath. She stilled her teasing with a final, impish grin.

It had put him at ease, however, and that had been her ultimate goal. He let his fingers trace idle patterns down her back, thinking of how best to phrase the news he had to give her. “Shit,” He said at last, “I don’t think this would be any easier talking to you if you were being my boss anyway.”

The smile fell away from her face and she leant forward, placing a kiss on his chin. There was no expectance in her calm, nothing but a serene air of waiting as he tried to get his thoughts together, to figure out the best way to word this.  
In the end, it was just easier to go with the truth. “The spy in the bar,” he began, looking away from her so that he could focus, “They were qunari.”

She made a confused noise. “The accounts that crossed my desk said that they were elvhen. Aliena– oh.”

Bull felt his mouth twist, without his volition. “Yeah.”

“And what did the qunari want?”

He looked back at her and let his expression fall.

“Oh.” She said again, eyebrows drawing into a troubled frown. He reached up so that he could run a hand through her hair, twisting the strands between his fingers.

He replied to the question she was just about to ask, “I said I’d think about it.” He attempted a smile, felt it come out as more of a grimace. “I don’t think it’s the answer they wanted to hear, going by the reaction.”

That got an amused snort from her, despite herself. “How long do you have to think?” She asked, recovering her seriousness.

“Three days.”

She kissed his chin again as he brought his hand around to fiddle with the end of the braid that ran behind her ear. “Whatever you decide,” she said, “I’ll support you.”

It was said so simply, an indisputable fact, spoken as both his boss and his lover. It was something that he wished he could embrace at face-value, something he could just believe and let pass without challenge, but –

“Last time – ”

“-You were near paralysed with indecision.” She cut over him, “And inaction would have killed the Chargers as surely as not sounding a retreat.” She said it gently, but it still struck an open wound. “I didn’t want that to be one of your regrets.”

“Hn.”

She smiled, “This time, your mercenaries aren’t in immediate danger. We have time to think, you have time to weigh your options.”

He grumbled deep in his chest. “You were supposed to just order me to stay.”

She laughed, the sound was filled with a hummingbird’s brightness. “You would have made your own decision no matter what I said or ordered of you.” She placed a finger on his chin, pushing slightly down. He tilted his head so that she could kiss him soundly.

“Besides,” she said, when she pulled away, “I would never keep someone from their people.”

There was something dark and sad that glittered in her eyes for a moment, before it was gone and gentle affection had replaced it. “You do realise that you have to tell Krem about this?”

Bull groaned, pressing his head back into the pillows. “Shit.” He said, ever eloquent. Then he let off a chuckle. “You realise that you’re going to have to deal with his fallout, when he works out that yelling at me won’t change things?”

She dropped her head to his chest and echoed his groan. “I think I might take Kai out for an early morning ride tomorrow. Somewhere very far away from Skyhold. The Fallow Mire, perhaps?”

“That’s not far enough.” Bull said, “You’d have to go to the Western Approach at least.”

She laughed into his chest and he smiled at the top of her head, but he didn’t fool himself into thinking that either of them would get any sleep that night. His thoughts were turbulence, and hers would be no better, going by the long, silent sigh he felt against his chest. He stilled his hand against her hair and looked away towards the window, feeling her absently tracing her fingers against a scar on his chest, over and again.

It was going to be a long three days.


	2. Chapter 2

The Inquisitor was brushing her halla the next morning when she heard the commotion coming from the other side of the courtyard. She stepped away from Kai, ducking his annoyed bite, and gave him a stern look over her shoulder. “None of that or I’ll take away your salt lick.”

The animal pawed the ground and snorted.

“I won’t be long,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “And you’re all but finished anyway.”

He stared at her, and then tossed his head, making sure she was watching him when he turned his back. She shook her head and hung up her tools.

“I have to make sure nobody is dying.” She said, “I’ll be back.”

One of Kai’s ears flicked backwards.

She turned away from the stubborn animal, back in the direction of the commotion that was becoming louder by the moment. She sighed, shook her head and jogged up the stairs to the main area of the fortress.

The sight that greeted her upon reaching the landing left her momentarily stunned.

A loose circle of guards and spectators were gathered around the side of the tavern, cheering and passing money to one another in a none-so-subtle underhand fashion. They were ringed around some sort of scuffle, She shouted and pushed her way through them to the centre of the gathering.

There she saw Krem hoisting an elf off the ground by his shirt collar. The normally calm man was snarling and furious, and as she took a moment to process what she was seeing, he pressed the elf into the tavern’s wall. The people around her cheered, Krem made no indication that he’d heard them.

“What is going on here?” Lavellan demanded, loud enough that a sudden hush dropped around them like stone. She stepped forward, those closest to her in the crowd tried to shuffle backwards, pressing into their nearby companions. “Lieutennant, you will  _put him down this instant._ ”

For a long moment, Krem looked like he was seriously considering disobedience, but then with one last unceremonious shove, he let go of the elf, who wilted to the ground at his feet. “Your Worship.” Krem said, sounding cold and unlike himself.

The elf shakily got to his feet, wiping at the corner of his mouth where a split lip showed evidence of a recent strike. He was brown-haired and slim and she frowned for a moment before recognition came to her. “Gatt?” Her frown grew, this definitely wasn’t the best start to her day.

The elf looked over at her, briefly, before turning his attention back to Krem. He snarled and said something in angry Tevene, the only words she could pick out were ‘replace’ and ‘whore.’

Krem’s mouth twisted and he lunged forward again, the Inquisitor moved forward at the same time and placed herself between the two men, bodily holding Krem back. The man was strong, and pushed against her with near all of that strength, and it took a clever application of force on her part to hold him. “ _Creators_ , Krem!” She ground out between strained breaths, “Stand down!”

“All due respect, Your Worship,” Krem said, not even sounding winded, “But he called you a – ”

“I know what he said, Krem!” she snapped, and the man looked down at her, stunned. She relaxed her hold and stepped back. Krem looked mutinous but didn’t move to attack the other again. Lavellan sighed “I’m dalish _._  One of the first things I had to learn was how to avoid the Tevinter slave traders, and all the delightful names they would use for us.”

Then she shook her head. “And that’s not important at the moment. What  _is_  important is that he said it to get exactly the reaction that you gave him. Calm down and _think_.”

Krem stepped back with a mumbled apology, some of his usual personality creeping back into his countenance. The Inquisitor sent a silent thanks to whatever God was listening as she turned towards the gaggle of soldiers around her.

“And all of you present have nothing better to do with your time than gamble, it seems.” She commented, in her most dangerously polite tone, “I shall have Ser Rutherford sent for, if you wish. I’m sure he has many important duties to be assigned.”

The effect was immediate – the courtyard emptied as suddenly as if a rift had opened over their heads.

She took a long breath, held it for a beat and then let it out again. Her eyes flicked shut for a moment and then open. She turned back to the two men in front of her. “Now tell me,” she began, still dangerously polite and trying not to let irritation get the better of her, “what is going on?”

“I was sent to speak to Tal Vashoth,” said Gatt (through a swelling nose and lip) “But his Second apparently had other ideas.”

“Delightfully vague.” She tilted her head, “Krem?”

The soldier glared at the elf and said nothing.

“ _Aclassi._ ” Her tone turned sharp.

“He came into the tavern, wanting to speak to the Chief.”

“Yes, he said as much. What happened next?”

Krem grunted and looked away.

“Save me from stubborn shems.” She muttered, before saying louder, “Gatt, you will go and wait in the main hall for me to come and gather you. Krem, you – ”

“All due respect,” said the elf, “But you don’t have the authority to tell me what to do, Inquisitor.”

Krem bristled, Lavellan placed herself between him and the elf and held up her hand. She looked at Gatt. “As you called me a whore not yet a minute ago, your respect seems to count for very little, viddathari.”

She turned her back to Krem and looked fully towards Gatt, tilting her head down and stepping towards him. She let some of her annoyance and anger show in her expression, letting a subtle wildness come into her body. It was a trick usually used on humans that had encroached on her clan’s camps in the past – a strange, alien exoticness that chilled more than it comforted. And it worked on Gatt - city elf, ex-slave and unused to the wildness of the dales - he cringed and backed up into the wall of the tavern as she stepped towards him.

“You have trespassed on Inquisition land,” her voice was dangerous, liquid silk, “insulted it’s head and threatened violence against one of it’s allies. I suggest that you consider your actions carefully before you do me further insult.”

Gatt said nothing, though his mouth opened and closed a few times.

She smiled, then, tucking away her annoyance and falling back into her normal, easy cadence. “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness, Gatt. You will go to the main hall and you will wait. If I discover any more disturbances have occurred due to your presence on my land, my commander and spymaster both will be issued with license to resort to deadly force if required.” She let her smile grow into a lazy grin. “My spymaster, in particular, tends to find that it is required more often than not.”

She stepped to the side, gesturing past her and raising an eyebrow. Gatt moved, retreating in the direction of the hold. The Inquisitor kept her eyes on his back until he was out of sight, then turned to Krem.

“Explain.”

While her tone remained mild and pleasant, the man recoiled slightly. Then he recovered, frowning. “I ran into him outside of the tavern, Your Worship.” He suddenly sounded embarrassed. “He said some unfavourable things about the Chargers destroying a good man.”

“And you rose to the bait,” She guessed. When he said nothing, she placed her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Krem-”

“He  _still is_  a good man.” Krem sounded unrepentant, and when she opened her eyes, he looked mutinous.

“Well, I know that.” 

A flash of amusement shot through her as she leaned against the tavern wall, folding her hands over her chest. Krem leant next to her, looking down at the ground when she glanced over at him out of the side of her eye.

“We both know that, and so does Gatt, I think.” She said. Krem opened his mouth, she shook her head, then continued. “You and Gatt share history with Bull. He saved you both, but then he  _chose you._  Of course Gatt is angry and lashing out. And of course he’s lashing out at you.”

“He’s an adult, Your Worship.”

“You say that like you haven’t made any bad decisions.”

She smirked at Krem’s disgusted look. “You’re right, though. It doesn’t excuse the behaviour. But think – what would you want to do if you’d lost a friend, someone who had saved your life, and then walked away with someone else?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds almost reasonable.”

“I’m good at making things sound reasonable.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

She laughed. “This still doesn’t excuse  _your_  behaviour, Krem.” She raised an eyebrow, he ducked his head and looked away. “Your reaction reflected badly on both the Chargers and the Inquisition.”

“I understand,” He replied, “I’ll report to-”

“Which is why you’re going to finish grooming Kai for me.”

Krem  _paled_. “Your Worship, I really don’t think – ”

“Take some apples,” She said over his protestations, straightening up and away from the wall, “He’s in a terrible mood.”

—

She stepped into the main hall to find Gatt waiting for her. His face was purpling beautifully, though someone had been kind enough to find him a water basin and a cloth, so his lip was no longer bloodied. She glanced at him as she entered, smiled blandly at a courtier who greeted her and moved towards him, letting her face fall into an expression of grim determination. She shook her head at the guard who was looking at her, hand on her sword hilt. The woman frowned, but fell back into parade rest.

She reached the elf. “On me, Gattlock.” She said, in a tone that brokered no argument. Then she started down the hallway, not bothering to check if he was following. She called out to a serving girl as she walked down the hall and the girl rushed over to stand at loose attention. “Have Iron Bull found and sent to Lady Montiliyet’s chambers.” Kal said, “Tell him that amongst other things we need to discuss the conduct of a member of his Chargers.”

“Of course, my lady.” Said the girl, falling into a low courtesy. The Inquisitor nodded and let the girl pass before moving on.

“That makes you uncomfortable.” Said Gatt from behind her, surprise lining his voice.

“And you would happily relish the ability to take someone from her duties and possibly find they’ve come to trouble later?”

“It’s not something I would have expected from a woman who willingly sent a shipful of good men to their deaths.”

She frowned and said nothing.

“Did I hit a nerve?” Triumph lined the other elfs' tone.

She saved herself from answering by opening the door to Josephine’s chambers. The woman was seated at her desk, and looked up when Kal entered, welcoming expression falling off her face when she saw who Kal had with her. “Is there a problem?” She asked, standing, her hands coming to rest on the tabletop, sharpness settling in her eyes.

“Josephine.” Kal said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone, “I hate to do this to you, but I require the use of your office for a short while.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” Josephine said, stepping around her desk and towards the two elves. “May I ask –”

For her part, Lavellan walked over to the fireplace and frowned at the low flicker of the flames. “I’ll also need you to have Cole sent up.”

Josephine was too polite to scowl, but it was easy to tell she wanted to. She curtseyed in The other womans’ direction, bland expression never breaking. “At once, Your Worship.” She stepped over and briefly touched Lavellans' shoulder. “If you should happen to require anything, I have business with Leliana. You are welcome to send for me if I should be required.”

_If you’re about to do anything dangerous, I will send the spymaster to kick your ass._

“Thank you, Lady Montiliyet.”

Josephine curtseyed once more and left the room, gently closing the door behind her. The Inquisitor turned towards Gatt and gestured to one of the chairs near the fire, gently settling herself in the other.

Gatt remained standing. “It’s nearly summer,” He said, “What possible use could you have for coal?”

She kept her expression delicately blank. “You will find that seasons matter for little in Skyhold.” She replied, “Please sit, and tell me why you’re here.”

“I’m here to speak to Tal Vashoth. And only Tal Vashoth.”

“And  _Iron Bull_  is coming up as we speak.” She tilted her head to the side. “Is it only to speak to him that you have come here?”

“Yes.” Gatt snapped, shooting her a dark look. “Like I’ve told you before, the Ben Hassrath would rather not lose two agents.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I merely ask because they seemed to find it necessary to attack Bull just this past evening.”

“That was a mistake.”

“The Ben Hassrath do not make mistakes, Gatt, you have said as much yourself to me before.”

“It was a  _test_ , then.” The elf growled, fists clenching. “Just like this is, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You are not.” She sat back in the seat, looking up at him.

“You’re quick to admit it.”

She flicked a smile at him. “I do not wish you harm, Gatt, although I do believe you wish a great deal to me. I had to be certain that you would not let your desire for vengeance overcome your common sense.”

“And so you placed us in a quiet room, away from the rest of the castle on a  _whim_.”

“I am hardly in any danger.”

Gatt growled, stepping forward. The Inquisitor blinked slowly at him, making sure that her exterior was the picture of calm.

“What will you do, Gattlock?” She asked quietly, “Would you you risk starting a war by attacking me for your own revenge, or would you rather have some tea?”

The other elf blinked, struck by the abrupt topic shift. Eventually he sighed and stepped back towards the fireplace, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t drink things made by potential enemies.”

“A shame,” she told him, “The Lady Montiliyet has an incredible tea collection.”

Gatt glowered into the fireplace.

A silence descended between the two of them, Lavellan affecting a polite charm that she knew would place the other elf at unease. He fidgeted slightly but was either too stubborn, or too well-trained to speak. Several minutes passed in this fashion, the elf standing by the fireplace and refusing to so much as even glance at her, Lavellan taking the time to study the changes in him.

Underneath the split lip and bruises, Gatt was leaner than she remembered, his cheeks drawn and pinched with dark hollows sittomg under his eyes. His armour was polished, but the fabrics he wore with it were loose about him and worn to the point where they were patched in places. He moved restlessly, in the manner of a scout confined, or a man desperate, and his mouth tugged down at the corner as she watched, before he smoothed his expression.

Everything else aside, her heart went out to him. The subtle changes spoke more to her than his attitude did, and she wondered not for the last time what could have possibly happened to make him as desperate as he appeared.

She was saved from asking the man about it, however, by the chamber door opening. She breathed a silent sigh, turning her head in the direction of the noise in time to see Bull stepping into the room.

“Hey Boss.” He said, moving towards her, “What’s up?”

She reached out a hand towards him, he took it with a grin. “You have a visitor.” She said, tilting her head towards the fireplace.

Bull looked, blinked, and she felt his grip become minutely tighter about her hand. “Gatt?”

“We have business to discuss, Tal Vashoth.”

(It was her turn to squeeze Bull’s hand, even as he seemed to relax all at once, grinning and rolling his shoulders.)

“Shoot.” Bull said, watching the elf.

“In private.”

“I am merely here as a mediator.” She said, deliberately bland.

“My lady would find that most of what we discuss would need to be spoken in qunlat.”

“Even so,” she shot back, “I would like to insure that no harm comes to the captain of the best mercenary group under my employ.”

“And that is the entirety of the reason?” Gatt sneered, “Not to protect any other  _investments_ you have made?”

She raised an eyebrow and met Gatt’s stare, not bothering to respond to the insult.

“Kalasin,” Bull’s call of her name was little more than a breath. “Kadan.”

She looked up at him and his eye twinkled, a pleased smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth

She made a face at him, he brought her hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her fingertips.

The gentle affection was as much a rejoinder as if he’d scolded her outright. And it had the added benefit of working on both her and Gatt. She dipped her eyes away from him for a moment before letting her attention focus on where he still gripped her hand a little too tightly. She sighed.

“If you’re sure.” She said, standing from the chair and stepping into his space.

“We won’t be long.” He let go of her hand and brushed his knuckles over her vallaslin, before stepping away with a faint smile. “Go rescue my lieutenant from your cruel and unusual punishment.”

She wanted to ask him how he knew about that, but it wasn’t the time. Instead, she shook her head, stepped past him slowly and looked back only at the door of the room.

Gatt and Bull stood on either side of the fire, the red light staining them and making them a strangely ominous pair. She shook her head, banished the morose thought and left the room.

—

“Worried,” Said a voice at her shoulder, “Waiting, wanting. Unsure if she’s doing the right thing. Should I tell him to stay? Should I have sent away his friend? Weight pressing on bowing shoulders, shuddering, scared, silent.”

“Hello Cole.” She turned toward the spirit. He ducked his head, hiding behind the overlarge brim of his hat.

“He would stay if you asked him to.” The spirit said, skipping once to keep up with her when she started walking, “But you’re not going to ask.”

“No, I’m not.”

He wrung his hands together. “The one called Gattlock wants to take The Iron Bull away.” He said, “He hurts, hunted, hungry. ‘This is your last chance, Hissrad.’ Now it’s mine. But the man is different, darker, but more restful, relaxed. Where has Hissrad gone and who is the stranger in his place?”

She turned to look at the spirit in surprise.

“He is very loud.” Cole said, sounding apologetic. “The Iron Bull is gentle, though, making him quiet. Firecrackers at a distance.”

“I suppose that means you can’t give me a report of what’s happening in there right this moment?”

Cole tilted his head as if he was listening – which he was, she supposed. “The Iron Bull is soft, soothing. He knows it is more difficult for me to hear them when people are calm.”

“He pre-empted me.”

“Yes.” Cole frowned. “He also thought the word ‘Nosy’ quite loudly.”

She pressed her lips together tightly, putting a hand over her mouth. “Thank you, Cole,” She said at last, when the laughter stopped threatening to spill out. “Can you watch him for me, still?”

The spirit peered at her from under his hat, blank expression somehow managing to carry a hint of amusement. “I am always doing that.” He dropped his eyes and scratched at his face. “Krem and Kai are fighting.”

She said a word she would later deny knowing, taking off at a run even as Cole passed her bandages and a healing potion.

Today just kept getting  _worse._


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s going on, Gattlock?” Bull asked, settling into the chair that the Inquisitor had abandoned.

The elf looked at Bull, something a little bit like desperation in his eyes for a moment, before he got control over his emotions. “Not really much that I can tell you,” he said, “Just came to give you a warning.”

“And that’s also the reason you insulted Krem and the Inquisitor, is it?”

Gatt moved to say something but caught himself. He frowned, fidgeted, then sighed. “Hissrad – ” He flinched, tried again, “Tal Vashoth – ”

“Try Bull, it’s what most people call me these days.” He made certain that his voice was as reassuring as he could make it.

Gatt didn’t quite smile. He shifted on his feet and refused to make eye contact with Bull. “The qunari want you back.” He said, after a pause that had stretched uncomfortably long.

Bull settled back into the chair, spreading his legs out in front of him. “So I’ve been told.”

“They’re not going to give you a choice.”

Bull tilted his head. “That part’s new.”

Bull’s calm acceptance was having an effect on the younger man, Gatt was beginning to settle, his fidgeting becoming less obvious, the air of nervous tension around him dissipating slowly. He remained standing, even as Bull stretched further in his chair like a languid cat. His bad ankle was aching, he subtly moved it closer to the fire, stretching out his leg.

The room, in reality, was a little too warm, a little too close. Bull reached up a hand to scratch his chin as the silence stretched. The next words in this conversation would have to be Gatt’s.

Eventually, the elf cracked. “They’re coming for you tonight.”

Bull settled back into the chair. “Last I heard, I had three days to decide, before they tried to kill me.” He levelled his gaze at the other man. “That’s not three days, Gatt.”

“Surely you’ve worked out that’s the point, Hissrad.” Gatt folded his arms over his chest. “You were never going to get three days.”

Bull grunted, “And the point of the little test was - ?” He leaned forward in the chair, letting his hands come to rest on his knees. “I was one of their agents. They know how I work.”

Gatt had started to shake his head, even before Bull finished speaking. “It wasn’t to test you, though, Hissrad.” He said, moving to the chair on the opposite side of the fire. He didn’t sit down, not yet, but he rested his hand on the chair back.

Bull stopped his eye from narrowing, but he’d always been smart as much as he downplayed it, and it was the work of a moment to figure out the real intentions behind the test. “The Inquisitor.”

“She does have a remarkable hold on you.” Gatt said the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Gatt – ”

“They needed to see what she’d do, back off or close ranks.” The elf glared defiantly at Bull.

Bull sighed, letting the issue go. It wasn’t the time or the place to worry about Gatt’s problems, when there were more pressing concerns. “What if I decide not to go tonight?”

“Well, that’s your test, isn’t it Hissrad?” Gatt said, slipping into the seat. He sounded genuinely sorry, but it was the same sort of tone he’d used to declare that Bull had been deemed Tal Vashoth, so the effect was somewhat limited.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I don’t have to.” Gatt replied. “You know they won’t take no for an answer. They’ll bite at your heels until you have no choice, and make it worse for you when you do come home because of it.”

Bull looked towards the fire, bringing his hand back up to his face. There was no doubt – no doubt – that as land-locked as the Inquisition was, as protected on all sides by allies as it was, that the qunari couldn’t mount a successful campaign against it. They’d need significant forces to fight against Orlais, and Ferelden on the other side, and that would leave their backs open to an attack from Tevinter if they tried. At best, they would sacrifice their hold on Seheron, and there was no way that they would declare open war just to recover one Tal Vashoth.

No, that wasn’t how they would strike, if they wanted him back, if they wouldn’t take no for an answer. It wasn’t even how they’d mount a war against the Inquisition, if the opportunity presented itself. They would attack small scouting parties with viddathari disguised as bandits. They’d destroy supply lines with rockfalls that blocked key access points through the mountains. They’d wreak havoc through all the other systems that an army needed to survive, focus their efforts on the few people to whom the Inquisitor or himself showed favour, if they wanted a more psychological edge. People like Harding, Threnn, even his Chargers, when the Inquisitor used them away from Skyhold in small campaigns as she was so fond of doing.

Never enough to truly upset an army, always a series of unfortunate events with no discernible cause to anyone other than Bull himself.

He swore.

Gatt echoed it with a bitter laugh, “Your weakness was always your compassion, Hissrad. They knew that from the start.”

The rank suddenly annoyed Bull in a way that he couldn’t explain. “I’m Tal Vashoth, Gatt, remember?”

“Tal Vashoth are mad, Hissrad.” Gatt’s voice had turned pleading, “They get people killed. You’re not one of them. You can’t be one of them.”

“There was a mission, Gatt. I sounded the retreat. You were there.”

“I know that’s not you.” Gatt leant forward in his chair, earnestness lining his tone, “Come back to us. You know it’s right. You know you don’t belong here, not really.”

“Gatt…”

“How often have these people insulted you, Hissrad, belittled you? Said something loud and insipid because they thought you couldn’t possibly be smart enough to understand?”

Bull clenched his fist to keep his expression smooth. Gatt’s eyes flicked to the movement.

“The ones that matter are the ones they’ll target. You’ll be left among people who think you’re little better than a beast and then you will become Tal Vashoth, truly, not just in name.”

Bull let out a breath and turned his head, watching Gatt out of the corner of his eye. He knew the boy had always had a case of hero worship for him, but it didn’t seem like this fervor was only coming from that. No, there was something else here as well, something underneath that determined expression and blooming black eye.

He’d seen it before, a nervousness and expectation, similar to what Bull had carried on the Storm Coast before the appearance of Vint mages on the beach.

“You’re close to being made Tal Vashoth yourself, aren’t you?”

Gatt didn’t say anything, but he winced, and that told Bull all he needed to know.

Bull sighed. “Go to the Re-educators, Gatt. Get yourself fixed up.”  _Don’t follow me down because you think I can fix you. I can’t._

“I need to bring you back as well, Hissrad.” Gatt said, “I need to fix my mistake.”

Bull looked away. “It wasn’t your mistake.” He replied, staring into the fire.

—

Day had well and truly set into Skyhold by the time Bull and Gatt left the stuffy room. Gatt spoke no more to the qunari, instead he bid to make a hasty retreat out of the hold.

Bull ambled towards the tavern, in desperate need of a drink. He slipped through the door and gave his usual greetings, before falling into his chair along the back wall. It was the time of day where there was a steady lull, a serving girl stood behind the bar cleaning glasses and flirting boldly with one of the inquisition soldiers. Both women laughed at something the serving girl said, and the soldier ducked her head and smiled shyly.

Life. People. The sort of thing that Bull could never just ignore, couldn’t compartmentalise away into numbers and figures and reasonable losses. His life had never been more important than theirs, his story no more or less marked than anyone else’s. A baker was never more important than a tailor, a soldier deserved no more or less respect than a tamassran. You just did your job, did it to the best of your ability and did it because it was something that was needed to be done, just like everyone else.

Wasn’t that the heart of the Qun?

He grunted, shifted in his chair (a lot less comfortable than the ones in Josephine’s office). How would he know what the heart of the fucking Qun was, when he’d fucked up enough to be declared Tal Vashoth?

“Here.” A tankard of ale appeared in front of him, “You look like you need this.”

Bull took the tankard, giving a wry smirk to his second as the man settled down heavily on the bench beside him. The man was out of his usual armour, loose shirt rolled up to the sleeve on his left arm. Bull tilted his ale in the direction of the bandages there.

“I’d ask how you managed to lose a fight with a halla, but Kai and I are acquainted.”

“Heard about that, did you?” Krem asked, taking a sip from his own ale, “Bet you didn’t hear that I won a fight against a qunari, first.”

“That sounds so much better than ‘I beat up an elf, then got chewed out for it by the Boss.’”

Krem grinned. “It’s like you always tell me, Chief, it’s all in the way you say it.” He rested his elbow on the table behind him, “Technically, the elf was a qunari, and the halla got in a lucky bite at my elbow.  _Right_  in the gap of my armour. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear the bastard thing was aiming.”

“He probably was.” Bull said, taking a mouthful of his drink.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Bull trying not to think on the most recent problem Gatt had given him. A few people moved about the tavern as they sat, Sera called out something over the bannister, Cabot called her a rude name in return. Above their spot, Bull could hear Sutherland and his crew moving about, talking to each other in voices muffled by the floor above Bull’s head.

Krem sighed, “Are you going to tell me why he was here?”

“I think you’ll find that he belongs to the Inquisitor, and against all sense and reason, she adores his bad-tempered hide.”

Krem frowned at him, “Gattlock, Chief.”

“Oh, him.” Bull said, feigning realisation, “No.”

“At least you’re honest about it.” Krem muttered, though his tone had turned bitter.

At the bar, the serving girl giggled and leaned forward, the soldier blushed and very deliberately kept her eyes focused on the woman’s face. Bull grinned, smart girl.

“This isn’t just writing letters home, is it, Chief?”

Bull tilted his head so he could peer at the other man. He didn’t know what his expression said, but Krem seemed to find answer enough in it.

“Didn’t think so.” He tipped his head back and sighed, eyes focused towards the roof. He put his ale down on the table behind him. “Does the Inquisitor know?

“Most of it.”

“Ah.”

There was another pause between them, but before it had been companionable and now it was tense and slightly guilty on Bull’s part.

“What about the Chargers? What are you going to tell us?”

It was a valid question, and Bull gave it the consideration it deserved, looking about the tavern and picking out each of his men with ease. They were in small groups of two or three, spread out amongst the other members of Skyhold’s various companies.

There had been a distance, Bull realised, growing between himself and the Chargers for a while, possibly since they came to Skyhold. The contract he had established with the Inquisition meant that he was called away from them more often than not, acting as an imposing bodyguard for a woman who wanted to be underestimated by the people she dealt with. He was with the Inquisitor more often than he was with the Chargers, though the number of missions that the Chargers accepted hadn’t lessened in the slightest. For all intents and purposes, Krem led the group now, in everything but name.

“There’s not much I can tell you,” He said, “I’m going to speak with the qunari and it’ll be business as usual while I’m gone.”

“And when you come back?”

Bull took a mouthful of his drink and didn’t answer.

“Ah.” Krem said again, “Does she know that?”

“I think she’s got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

“Do you even know why they want you back, Chief? Or did they just tell you to come so you went running like a damn lost dog?”

Bull leant forward on his chair, put his elbows on his knees and ducked his head.  “Something like that.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Chief!”

“I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“What about  _why_?” The younger man demanded, “They almost got us killed, and you’re just going back!” He huffed out a breath, “The least you could do is give me the truth about why.”

Bull didn’t look at his second when he spoke, “When has the truth ever mattered, Krem?”

His second was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was in a short, clipped tone of voice that sounded nothing like his jovial self. “I see.”

Bull looked over at him – his lips were pressed together in a thin, white line, his hand clenched against his knee. “Krem – ”

“Don’t.” The word was sharp as a whipcrack. A few heads at nearby tables turned to watch them. “Just… don’t.”

There was another pause, Bull didn’t try to break it.

“You know,” said Krem, “I thought you were finally being honest. I thought you were finally – _finally_  – leaving that Ben Hassrath bullshit behind. I guess I was wrong.”

“Krem – ” Bull tried again.

His second didn’t even look back as he walked away.

—

Bull stared down at the greatsword and helmet on the table in front of him. They were polished until they gleamed, showing an element of care that spoke of the Inquisitor's handiwork above and beyond his own upkeep of just keeping the damn things serviceable. He had never had the patience to keep his equipment up to the fastidious standard to which she kept her own.

He had asked her about it once, and she’d jokingly told him it had been born of the boredom of an aravel. She’d been oiling one of the arms of her bow at the time, her daggers laid out next to her and she’d placed the bow across her lap and smiled. “Not much to do while travelling.” She had said.

He wasn’t really sure when she’d started looking after his equipment in addition to her own. Probably after hearing the Madam de Fer tell him off one time too many for the state in which he’d kept his blade. It had been one of the many little things they’d sort of just… fallen into on their travels, along with him building the fires of their camps and the Seeker brushing down the horses.  

She hadn’t commented when the dragon tooth had appeared, hanging from a cord wrapped around his greatsword’s hilt, but he hadn’t commented on the one that hung from her belt loop, either, one more thing added to the list of things they didn’t need to talk about to understand.

He lifted the blade and looked down the edge – a clever mix of worked steel that had been inlaid with dawnstone (“Still pretty, not brittle.” The Inquisitor had said as she gave it to him after a trip to a forge in Val Royeaux. She didn’t speak to him for hours after, until he’d sufficiently teased her enough that she forgot her embarrassment for annoyance.) The edge was keen, nicks carefully sharpened out by a practiced hand.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Bull looked up. His Kadan was leaning against the armoury’s doorframe, arms folded, crooked grin on her face. As he watched, she straightened and stepped into the room, crossing quickly to him.

She picked up his helm, a mask in the shape of an ox skull that she’d fondly nicknamed ‘Dread’, and ran her fingers over it, over the myriad of near-seamless repairs that skated it’s surface like spiderwebs.

“The leather is starting to wear on the inside.” She said, as she flipped it over, “Over your eyepatch. It’ll need replacing soon.”

“Yeah.” He put his blade down so that he could watch her as she studied the helm.

“Around the base of your horns, too. You’ll need to be careful with that, it’s a weak point.”

“Kadan – ” He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

“You need to remember to keep your guard up on your blind side. I won’t be there to cover you if you forget.”

He reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Kadan,” He said again, and when she looked up at him he didn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. He raised an eyebrow, reaching out with his other hand to run a knuckle over her vallaslin. She leant into his touch, and he let his expression go soft, if such a word could be applied to his face.

He took his helm from her and placed it on the table behind him, letting his hands glide to her waist so that he could tug her closer.

She came willingly, her hand coming up to rest against his chest, her hazel eyes meeting his. He could see confusion there, she didn’t yet understand his smile and she wasn’t yet quite curious enough to ask, willing to let him play his game.

“When are you leaving?”

“You’re sure that’s happening, are you?”

Again, confusion flickered across her face, and she stared almost accusingly at him as she replied, “Isn’t that why Gatt was here?”

“He could have been here for a social visit.” Bull kept his tone light enough that he knew it would infuriate her, and the sharpness in her gaze told him that he’d succeeded.

“You are nowhere near as funny as you think you are.”

“Well, he could have been.”

“When, Bull?”

He grinned. The game was up, he knew he couldn’t tease her any more without causing her real distress. “I’m not.”

“There are preparations I’ll have to make, people I have to talk to. You’re leaving me without a warrior, you – pardon?”

He kissed her. “I’m not going.”

“But –” She said, eyes going wide as she stared at him, “This is everything you wanted, Bull. The qunari want you back, you’ll be able to see everyone you gave up, you get your people back, your  _life_.”

“And all I have to give up in return is my new life here.” He told her sharply. “They wouldn’t let me stay, not among the people that I became Tal Vashoth for in the first place.”

“But an hour ago,” the Inquisitor pressed, “In the bar. You told Krem – ”

“I didn’t, actually.” Bull said, tilting his head, grin blossoming over his face, “He assumed and I didn’t correct him.” He shrugged, “He’ll get over it.”

“But why – ”

“It’s a  _trap_ , Kadan. They wouldn’t be pushing it this hard if it wasn’t. They’re dangling the bait to get to me, and if I want to find out why the qunari are so desperate to get me back, the last thing I’m going to do is announce in the middle of a crowded tavern that I’m not buying it.”

The Inquisitor glared at him, the effect was somewhat lessened by the way that she wasn’t quite stepping out of his arms.

“Don’t pout.” He said, kissing her on the forehead, “I’m going to meet with them, find out what’s going on, tell them where to go.”

“Fine.” She said, “I’m coming with you.”

“Ah, no.” He told her, “You’re not.” He slipped hips hands down to her waist, “They see me with you, they attack, I have to kill good people and we go to war with the qunari.”

“You can’t walk into a qunari camp  _by yourself_ , Bull. You’re Tal Vashoth!”

“And it’s sweet that you’re worried, Kadan, it really is.” He brought a hand up to her chin and tilted her face up, brushing his lips along hers, “But if you want to avoid a war, let me play this my way.”

“I don’t like it.” She told him, eyebrows tugged down.

“I know.” He brushed his lips over hers again.

“But I trust you.”

Another kiss, “I know that, too.”

“And I know you’re trying to make it so I can’t think straight about this.” Her hands came to rest over his on her waist.

“Is it working?”

“Not even remotely.” She smiled, though, so he counted it as a victory. “You have until morning, The Iron Bull, and if you’re not back in my bed by then, I’m coming after you, acts of aggression be damned.”

He kissed her one final time, deeper, slower. She leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth, arms coming up to rest around his neck as he pulled her fully against him. When he pulled away, she looked a little dazed.

“Thinking straight now?”

It took her a moment, and when she worked out what he’d said, her expression turned sour.

“You  _ass._ ”

—

Bull was about a quarter of a mile past the refugee camp when he spotted the light through the snow-encrusted conifers. He stepped towards it, as quiet as he could manage when faced with the snow and his bad ankle. Hushed voices carried towards him through the clear air, and he stopped just outside of a clearing to observe the people within.

There was a smokeless fire in the centre of an area freshly cleared of snow, and around it sat four people. Gatt was there, eating from a plain wooden bowl. Next to him sat the dark haired elf that Bull had made an impression on the day before, and his face was a mix of colours, mostly purples, blacks and greens. On their other side sat two burly qunari, young soldiers, relatively unscarred. Not a person there looked like any type of command.

Over the fire was a pot from which the four ate, and they sat on oiled animals skins, sleeping rolls spread out amongst them. Animals grazed absently at the far edge of the clearing, something almost halla-like, but larger and honey brown instead of white. Behind them stood an aravel, all sweeping sails and polished wood.

 _That explains how they got this far without being seen, then._  Bull thought, impressed in spite of himself.

But it didn’t explain how they’d managed to get this far without any sort of leadership. There had to be a person in charge, someone who was calling the shots -

“Ashkaari.”

\- Shit.

He turned his head. Standing in his blind spot was an older qunari, horns long gone dull with age, skin hanging a little loose over her wiry muscle. Her eyes were a bright, sharp honey, her white hair fell in dreadlocks to the small of her back, kept out of her face by a material tie. Her skin was a deep, dark grey, almost black against the shadows.

“Tama.” He said, and his Tamassran smiled like he’d imparted a secret.

She was wearing a fur-lined, oiled rain skin that draped from her shoulders to just below her knees, and as she stepped towards him, he could see the slight lack of colour in the tips of her fingers and the gooseflesh over her wrists.

“I have missed you, Little Ashkaari.” She said, softly, “More than is truly proper. You were always such a favourite of mine.”

Bull said nothing, suddenly not trusting himself to speak. Part of him was cursing his own stupidity – he should have seen this coming, should have realised that the qunari wouldn’t hesitate to use this weapon against him if they felt it was required.

Tamassran stepped towards him, he fought the dissonance that threatened to take his senses. “What have you been doing to yourself?” she asked, fingers reaching up to his eyepatch. He flinched away before he could stop himself and she frowned.

“Got a flail to the face,” He said, gruffly, “You know how these things go.”

“Protecting the young Aqun-Athlock, wasn’t it?”

He took a hesitant step backwards, not trusting his own reactions, “Krem. Yeah.”

Tamassran tilted her head to the side, peering up at him (and how was she so  _small_ , when all his memories of her had her larger than life?)

“You are not happy to see me?”

“Not exactly thrilled about it, no.”

She sighed, gesturing through the trees towards the fire. “Come sit with me.” She said, “This cold air is havoc on an old woman’s bones.”

“Why are you here?” Bull asked, folding his arms across his chest and very much not moving.

“To discuss your re-entrance into the qun.”

“You,  _specifically._ ”

Her smile was humourless, bitter. “To fix my mistake.”

He stared at her a moment longer, but no more information was forthcoming. After a moment, she shook her head. “Come to the fire, Ashkaari, and do an old woman a favour. Your leg must be hurting you in this chill.”

“I’m fine.”

She laughed. “Stubborn as you ever were.” She placed her hand on his arm, “It is hardly imperative to discuss matters standing in the snow. Come and sit.”

She moved away from him, back towards the fire, and he found his body following out of childish habit. He knew he was off-kilter, deliberately so, but he couldn’t seem to find his balance again as the situation continued to progress into territory that was even more bizarre.

More and more he was struck by the growing suspicion that this had been a terrible idea.

And this gambit, he realised, was only working because he’d come alone.

Gatt nodded to him as Tamassran gestured towards one of the spread skins.  He sat on it, looking at the others around the fire.

The black haired elf looked surly and had a bouquet of bruises across his pale face. He didn’t acknowledge Bull verbally, but he filled a wooden bowl with stew from the pot, hastily pushing it in Bull’s direction.

Bull frowned. “Hate to be rude, but no.”

Tamassran sighed as she settled into her own seat. “Vida, be a dear and reassure Hissrad that we mean no harm, would you?”

The elf scowled, winced when the action strained his bruises and took a mouthful of the stew directly out of the bowl. This done, he shoved the bowl ar Bull once more.

Bull raised an eyebrow and accepted this time, though he didn’t eat from it.

“Vida?”

“Faster to shout in a fight than ‘Viddathari’.” Gatt said, from his side of the fire, “Also makes it easier to tell us apart.”

“I’m still calling you Gatt.”

“You and everyone else.” The elf returned good naturedly, “Your nicknames have a habit of sticking.” Bull grinned and took a mouthful of the stew.

The two qunari said nothing at all while the exchange was happening, though they did glare almost convincingly. It didn’t take much to see that his Tama had fallen out of grace. The four with her were all wet-be-hind-the-ears, with the exception of Gatt, who was, by his own admission, not on the best of terms with those higher up the chain of command. It was unusual, and the mission itself was one that his Tamassran shouldn’t have been on – she should have been looking after the next generation of children, rather than tramping through the frostbacks.

He glanced over at her, frowning, and she met his accusing look with a small nod. Her smile was almost one of approval directed at a favoured child.

And even though that was probably the most calculated of all the plays that had been going on the past two days, damn if it didn’t make him feel a rush of pride. He ate another mouthful of the stew to cover the moment.

“The one question that I really want an answer to, though, is why do the qunari want me back.”

Tamassran smiled again. “You always did ask the important questions, Little Ashkaari.” She said, “The answer is simple – you’re uniquely placed. One hardly needs to examine the situation to know that the Inquisitor is the new strongest power to the South, and only a slightly closer examination proves that she keeps you with her as often as she can.” She blinked serenely at him, “And then there is the trinket at the end of your blade which speaks of a deeper affection again.”

“If you think – ”

“You know I do not assume without evidence, Ashkaari.” She told him, with a distinct lack of patience that he remembered from his days as a child, “Gattlock has directly observed you demonstrating affection, and all of Thedas has heard the tale of your relationship’s discovery.”

Her expression turned sad, “Even as a child, you always felt too deeply.”

He didn’t scowl, much as he wanted to, instead took another mouthful of the stew to save himself from answering.

The fire flickered in front of him, orange flames dancing across his vision. The warmth was comforting, and the shift of logs and crackling sparks were almost lullaby-like in their comfort.

“We don’t expect you to spy on her, Hissrad.” Said Gatt, and Bull had to drag his attention back to the conversation at hand.

Tamassran nodded her agreement, “Even the most foolish of us would not attempt that twice.”

Across the fire, Vida sighed and placed his bowl on the ground, hunching forward to rest his arms on his knees.

Bull frowned. There was something about that, something he should pay attention to – but the fire was a warm distraction and Tama’s voice was soothing, so gentle and soft and familiar. It was so hard to concentrate – why was it so hard to concentrate?

“Oh, Ashkaari,” Said Tama, soft and sad. She stood and stepped towards him,  “All of those scars and battle wounds, and the most dangerously foolish thing you ever did was fall in love with a silly dalish girl.” She ran her hand over his head like she used to do when he was a child.

Across the fire, Vida collapsed.

Bull’s vision swam, he couldn’t even make his mouth form around the curse he desperately wanted to spit. His limbs were suddenly too heavy, his head felt like there was a fog shifting through it.

“Why did you have to love her, my little Ashkaari? They would have let you be free if you hadn’t loved her.”

The last thing he saw was his Tama’s sad eyes and his last thought was of the Inquisitor and his own foolishness, before a dreamless sleep took him and he knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

The dawn that came to Skyhold was bathed in the sort of misty fog that threatened rain down in the valley below.  It seeped in everywhere, under cracks in doors and in through the high rafters to leave Skyhold damp and soggy at the edges, surrounded by a grey gloom that was next to impossible to see through.

Lavellan sat upon her halla, stilling him as he pranced nervously underneath her. He was feeding off her anxiety to be sure, and was agitated because of it – in an even worse mood than usual he’d tried to bite at least three of the six horses that were with them, succeeded in bloodying one of the scout’s arms before they’d even left the hold. It was taking all that she had to keep him calm, and with her own nerves jangling as they were, the task of keeping him still was growing more difficult with every passing minute. Next to her, Leliana took one of her hands off her horse’s reins and laid it on the Inquisitor’s arm.

“We’ll find him,” she said, and on her far side Scout Harding nodded in agreement.

Lavellan didn’t trust herself to speak; instead she nodded, once, and kept her gaze focused on the gates opening ahead.

Around her, scouts shifted uneasily. One or two cast askance glances in her direction, though no-one was cruel enough to comment on the fact that she surely looked awful. She hadn’t managed to find sleep during the night, waiting for Bull to return and feeling ever sicker with worry as the hours passed on and there was no sign of him. When dawn had come and he still hadn’t returned, she’d hunted down the spymaster and requested her assistance. The preparation from that point had been swift and as efficient as possible, but they’d still lost two precious hours and Bull still hadn’t returned.

Ahead, the gates slid into place with a deafening ‘clang’. Not trusting herself to speak, she raised a hand high in the air and swung it forward. Around her, horses and men began to move, and she slapped Kai on his neck twice. He tossed his head and started an easy trot that soon had him at the head of a snort file.

Leliana fell into place next to her, and a quarter-length behind. She said nothing, but Lavellan could feel the Nightingale’s eyes burning between her shoulder-blades. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and felt herself relax as she exhaled. Nervous and irritable, she was no use to anyone – it would do no good for her to worry about things she couldn’t change until she could change them.

It took half an hour to make it to the base of the mountain, fifteen minutes more to pass the distance to - and enter into - the sea of tents that marked the Inquisition’s main force. Here, servants, children and animals ducked between tents and canopies, avoiding the horses and the soldiers with an ease born of long-practice. People shouted at each other as they moved past, and in the distance, the clash of metal on metal announced the beginnings of training for the day. Some people stopped to watch the small procession pass, one or two bowing as they recognised the small elven woman at the head of the group. Normally, this would have made Lavellan blush and duck her head, but today she found that she had no spare thought for them and barely noticed them as they moved through the camp.

Harding broke away from the main body, and the procession came to a temporary halt. The sky above them was dark and laden with a late-spring rain that promised to turn the last remaining patches of snow into a sleety mess that would be difficult to ride through and next-to-impossible to track things in. Around them, people were pulling out oilskins and were laying them over their tents in preparation for the coming deluge.

Kai snorted and tossed his head. She rested a hand on the side of his neck, stroking gently. He calmed under her touch, but his ears flicked about, belying his tension.

She suddenly became aware of the eyes on her beast, and in turn of the way that they slid to her. She was riding bareback with no reins, as halla found both saddle and bridle affronts to their pride, and would tolerate neither. Aware of the scrutinizing glances, she felt her shoulders stoop inwards, felt her face settle into a bemused, harmless smile. Leliana sighed behind her.

“Noble, Inquisitor,” The woman said out of the corner of her mouth.

The words hit their mark. Lavellan forced her spine to straighten, let importance slip into her posture, and let the bemusement on her face become an affected aloofness.

“Better,” Said the spymaster.

Underneath her, Kai nickered. He raised his head in such a way that his horns swept back into a graceful arch, rather than looking like the dangerous weapons that they were. He flicked an ear and snorted at the people who were starting to gather around them, standing perfectly still, his emotions and true intentions betrayed only by the slight shifting of muscles under Lavellan’s legs.

“If you gore anyone I will make you into my next coat.” She hissed at her beast, thinking that her nerves couldn’t possibly take any more stress this morning. For his part, the halla merely flicked an ear in dismissal of the threat.

It was with no small sense of relief that the Inquisitor noticed Harding returning. The dwarf was sitting astride a beast that was more pony than horse and looked decidedly uncomfortable in the saddle. “I’ve got reports saying that he passed through here.” She said, and there was no need to clarify just who ‘he’ was.

“Where?” Lavellan asked, a touch too sharply.

“East,” Harding said, unfazed, “and moving quickly.” The dwarf frowned. “He was heading into the forest at the edge of the encampment and he was alone.”

“How reliable is this information?” Leliana asked, letting her horse walk forward a few paces so that she was in line with the Inquisitor’s steed. Kai tried to bite, but the other horse was one that had obviously been near the halla before, because it neatly sidestepped the other animal’s teeth with an air of steely contempt.

Harding looked askance between the two animals, before returning her attention to the conversation. “One of my best sources in the camp,” the dwarf confirmed. “The Iron Bull passed through late last night, shortly before the final bell. He was armed, but not in armour, apparently.”

The Nightingale sighed, “Foolish man.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Harding said, but she sounded uncertain.

“Reasons or no, walking into an enemy camp, by yourself, with nothing but a broadsword –”

“He needed to take the sword, otherwise he would have gone unarmed,” Lavellan interrupted, “He was there to talk, not start an incident.”

“If he wasn’t there to start an incident, why take the sword at all?”

Lavellan didn’t have the patience to spare for politeness, “You’ve travelled with a qunari before, even if it was over a decade ago,” She snapped, “You should know the answer to that question.”

At any other time, she might have found Leliana’s wide-eyed reaction comical, as it was, it just served to remind her that they were wasting time.

She sighed. “I’m sorry, my tone was inappropriate.” She stroked her fingers along Kai’s neck, trying to gain some sense of calm from the beast. “We should move on.”

“I agree.” Harding said, “We need to move before this rain settles in if we’re going to find a trail to follow.”

That said, the procession began to move out, falling into a column that was two abreast in order to navigate through the tents around them. As they passed through the sea of fabric, Lavellan found that she could no longer deny the budding sense of unease that was taking root in her stomach. While Bull was a difficult man to read at the best of times, it still didn’t fit with his normal behaviour for him to lie to her. She was certain – absolutely so – that had he meant to return to the qunari he would have told her instead of spinning a convincing lie about it. But even for her certainty, a small seed of doubt was worming its’ way into her mind, insidious in its’ insistence that perhaps he had merely decided to leave the Inquisition after all.

No, she thought, that was her exhaustion and her worry talking. Bull wouldn’t leave her without telling her that he was going.

Which meant, of course, that something was preventing him from returning, and somehow that seemed a whole lot worse than the alternative.

She petted Kai on his flank. “We need to find him, boy,” She said, softly, ignoring Leliana’s sympathetic glance, “We need to bring him home.”

—

The horses and halla stood in a line along the forest’s edge, each spaced within sight of the next. To her left was a soldier that the Inquisitor didn’t know, and to her right sat Leliana, writing a quick missive on a piece of parchment. This, she rolled neatly and placed into a tube attached to the leg of one of her crows, before releasing the bird and watching it fly back towards the hold. A few horses down on the right hand side was Harding, but the slow, misty drizzle that had started to fall obscured Lavellan’s vision to the point where she couldn’t see the other woman. She looked back towards Leliana, who met her eye and nodded.

Lavellan nodded back, and the spymaster raised a horn to her lips and blew one short note.

As one, the line of horses began to move into the trees, scouts on foot waiting until they were some distance in before they followed. The forest’s vegetation was thick at the edge, but soon cleared away into a sparse woodland that was populated by a mix of conifer and pine. The trees were large and she could only see a short distance ahead before they obstructed her view, but she cast her eyes about, looking for any sign that Bull might have passed this way. In the forest ahead, a small animal startled, and a few birds still sang even as the rain threatened to break through the overhanging trees. The shrubbery, where it grew, was wild and twisted, covered with new, green foliage.

It was difficult to keep to a straight path as she guided Kai through the trees, but she also knew that she must so that the forest could be more thoroughly searched. Leliana and the other scout had long-since passed out of her line of sight, and it was all she could do to keep Kai moving steadily forward and not force him to rush.

If she rushed, she might miss Bull’s trail, and there was nothing more horrifying than that thought to her.

She had been moving in this fashion for a little over an hour when the horn sounded to her far right. Kai’s head swung about in response to the noise, and he settled into a fast, eager trot, picking his way through the forest in the direction of the call.

Her heart lodged itself somewhere in her throat as she urged her beast to move faster. He did so, darting around trees with a grace no horse was capable of, and picking up his pace again in response to a second horn blast.

Leliana burst through the trees in front of them, face pale, bringing her horse around to block Kai’s path. The Nightingale was breathing harshly, eyes bright under her hood, and Kai came reluctantly to a halt in front of her horse, prancing in his eagerness to dodge away.

“Inquisitor,” The spymaster said, sounding urgent, “You are needed back at Skyhold immediately.”

Lavellan blinked incredulously at the woman for a moment, before what she had said became clear. “You have  _got_  to be  _joking._ ” She snapped at the woman, “Stand aside and let me through.”

The spymaster darted her horse forward when Kai looked to move around it, and shook her head at the Inquisitor, urgency in her voice as she repeated, “You need to go to Skyhold.”

“Leliana, let me past _._ ” Lavellan turned Kai, trying to get past the spymaster, who was skilfully keeping her from moving forward. “They’ve found something, and I need to see what it is.” Her heart was sinking like a stone, even as Leliana shook her head again and thwarted another of Kai’s attempts to get past her horse.

“I will explain at Skyhold, your Worship.” She said, sounding harried, “Please trust me that you must return immediately.”

Kai snorted in agitation at the other animal, rearing slightly and ducking his head in an obvious threat.

“Inquisitor,  _please_  –”

Kai flicked his horns in a feint that the horse fell for, and as it danced out of range, he darted forward and around, snapping his teeth at the other beast’s flank as he passed it. The other horse spun away, only Leliana’s tight grip on its’ reins keeping it from rearing, and as she swung it around to give chase to the elf, Lavellan and Kai had already gained considerable distance through the trees.

“Inquisitor!” The spymaster shouted behind them, voice laden with despair.

The trees and bushes flew past in a blur of green, brown and white. Kai easily picked through the undergrowth, leaping over what he could and nimbly ducking around what he couldn’t. Lavellan pressed herself low to his flank, trusting him to find the best route as the trees shot by. Behind them, they could hear Leliana and her steed crashing through the undergrowth, but the woman was falling further away with every passing second, and Kai snorted his contempt of the other animal as he ran.

They burst through the trees into a small clearing, and Kai came to a stop so suddenly that she nearly impaled herself on his horns. She looked up, heart in her throat as her beast started prancing on the spot, breathing hard.

The world stopped.

The sounds of the clearing – the startled gasps of the humans and whinnies of the horses, the crashing of Leliana on her way behind them - they fell away from her hearing as she took in the sight in front of her.

The clearing was covered in blood, the ground stained with it, melting snow turning the earth into a sticky, bloody mess that sucked at Kai’s hooves as he danced underneath her. A metallic stink filled the air, and she choked on it as her eyes travelled over splatter patterns in the snow, skirting around the large, dried pool that stained the centre of the clearing. She put a hand over her mouth, hiccupping once in shock, before her stomach heaved and she tried desperately not to throw up.

Mechanically, she dismounted, staggering slightly when her legs tried to give way, throwing her hand out to a nearby tree to steady herself. Her hand came away sticky when she had her balance, and she looked at it, not quite able to grasp the red stains that she saw. She looked back up, stumbled once when she started to walk forward. The other members of the Inquisition hovered at the edge of her vision, she didn’t notice them, even as some tried to step forward to her and others held them back.

Muffled, like it was very far away, she heard Leliana’s voice, “I did try to stop you.” The woman sounded apologetic.

Fen’Harel could  _take_  her apology.

Anger settled into her stomach, and she embraced it, because anger was something she could use, something she could focus on. Her vision sharpened, sounds coming back to her in a rush, and this time the Inquisition  _did_  recoil when they looked at her, at whatever it was they saw on her face.

As she moved into the clearing, something caught her eye. An arrow, protruding from a tree. She moved towards it, her fists clenching at her sides, and wrenched it from the wood, grasping at the object that was tied to it with palpable fury.

She looked down, staring at the thing in her hands, ignoring Leliana’s pleas for her to come away.

Her hands were gripped around half of a dragon’s tooth, capped in obsidian and stained with blood. The leather strap it was affixed to had been severed with some kind of knife, then re-tied to the arrow shaft, and as she looked at it something cold and clear started to push through her rage.

“No.” She said.

She sounded nothing like herself – bitter and dark, and those nearest to her recoiled from the woman who was suddenly reminding them all of how strange, how  _alien_ , the dalish could be.

“Inquisitor – ” Leliana said, stepping forward.

“No.” She said again, eyes taking in the clearing, the blood, the  _frightened shemlen_  around her.

Hysteria bubbled up in her throat. “No. No, no, no, no, no!” It was the only word left to her, all she could think, all she could feel – denial and anger warring in her gut, hand clenching around the dragon tooth, it’s sharpened point digging into the meat of her thumb, a sharp, stinging pain.

Kai bit her.

His teeth clenching around her elbow was enough to clear her head, and she looked at him reproachfully. He pulled away, snorting in disgust and tossing his head.

She was shaking, she realised, her fingers numb and cold. The bite had brought her back to herself, enabling her to focus on the world around her again. Harding stood on the edge of the clearing, unusually pale under her freckles, scar standing out red against her cheek. She looked miserable, and Lavellan realised she was gripping a horn between her hands, turning it over with white-knuckled fingers.

Leliana reached out towards her, then hesitated. She seemed caught between words, uncertain of what to say, if she should say anything at all.

The moment seemed frozen, no-one entirely certain of how to act.

Then, with a single thought, the moment shattered.

_Where’s his body, da’len?_

She jerked like she’d been struck.

She forced herself to turn back to the blood-soaked scene, loosening her grip on the dragon’s tooth. Certainly, the clearing was gruesome, covered as it was in cloying scarlet, but one very key element was missing.

Bull’s body wasn’t in the clearing, and, when she looked, she began to see other things as well. There was no upturned dirt or snow that would have resulted from the fight that the scene tried to show, the snow was pristine and white instead of a dirty brown mess.  Bull was  _vicious_ when he fought, slamming the ground so hard with his blade that it left furrows in the earth, and yet the ground was smooth and unturned.

Indeed, the only disturbance that she could see was the ashen remains of what could have been a fire-pit – the rest of the scene was a  _stage._

“There was no fight here.” She said, quietly.

Her voice still managed to be heard throughout the clearing as shocked soldiers stared at her in silence. She knelt down next to the fire-pit, considering the way that a battle would have to account for the hazard and seeing nothing in the patterns of blood to reflect that.

“Look.” She said, turning towards Leliana, who had little more than pity on her face, “ _Look._ ” She growled the word as forcefully as she was able, gesturing to the ground, the snow, the trees and their unbroken branches.

“Inquisitor – ” The spymaster began, but Harding cut over the top of her.

“No, Spymaster.” The Dwarf said, something like triumph in her tone, “Her Worship is  _right._ ” She stepped forward excitedly, taking in the scene with new eyes. “It only looks like a fight because we weren’t expecting the blood. But if you take it away and look underneath…”

Another member of the party voiced their agreement. “There’s no body either. The qunari’s damn big - you wouldn’t move him unless you had to.”

Lavellan felt a giddy laugh building in her throat, but she smothered it. She knew it would sound little more than hysterical if it escaped her, even as a new relief crashed through her. There was blood, but there had been no fight.

There was a dragon’s tooth, but there had been  _no fight_!

_Ah, but why would there be no fight?_

Even as Leliana started to look around with something more like excitement in her eyes, the thought stopped the Inquisitor dead.

She looked down at the dragon’s tooth in her hand, a new and present fear taking root in her heart. It had been left behind for her to find, that much she was certain of. But by Bull himself, or someone else?

“Look here!” Exclaimed  Harding, “There’s some sort of track marks. A cart or a wagon.”

She was kneeling down at the edge of the clearing, brushing her hand over a rut in the ground. “They’re strange, though.” She said, sounding puzzled, “They don’t seem to move very far at all before they disappear. There’s no path to them or from them.”

Leliana stepped over, and with a growing sense of dread, the Inquisitor did so as well.

Two elven qunari, and a track that seemed to appear then disappear a short distance away? She already knew what had made that track.

Seeing it just confirmed it. “An aravel.” She said, with quiet disgust, looking down at the very distinctive wheel ruts. “They used an  _aravel._ ”

Leliana reached out and gripped her shoulder. “This doesn’t mean he went willingly.” She said, hitting upon Lavellan’s fear. “There could be any reason why there was no fight – an arrow dipped with a sleeping poison, a successful ambush. Just because he didn’t fight this doesn’t mean that he agreed to go with them.”

“They took him.” She said, glaring into the trees at the clearing’s edge, “Against his will. They took him and they used the legacy of my people to do it.”

“We’ll find them, Inquisitor.” Said Harding, “We’ll make sure they pay for this.”

—

They searched for traces of the qunari for an hour more, but found nothing before the rain broke in earnest. Drenched and defeated, they turned back towards Skyhold. Lavellan gripped the dragon tooth tightly the whole way, and was grateful when Leliana took it upon herself to lead the search party around the encampment rather than through it.

In addition to washing away valuable clues, the rain also made the path back to Skyhold difficult as the last of the snows melted and turned the ground into a thick, icy slush that sucked at their horses hooves and slowed their progress to a crawl. Everyone was aware of the fact that with each passing minute, the gap between Bull’s abductors and the Inquisition grew, but most held onto the hope that Bull would make the qunari fight for every inch if he was being taken against his will.

It was a very small comfort.

It was a silent and morose party that went back through Skyhold’s main gate, and when Krem came out to greet them, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything more than shake her head at the young man. He frowned, took up a position in the line next to the Inquisitor’s halla, and for once the beast allowed it with little more than a contemptuous ear flick.

“We need to discuss our options.” Leliana said to the Inquisitor, “Meet us in the war room when you’re ready.”

She nodded a numb assent and Leliana moved away, passing her horse off to a stable hand.

Krem reached up his uninjured arm to help her out of the saddle. Hollowly, she took it, dimly aware of the fact that she was shivering with cold from the rain. Once she had dismounted, a very nervous Master Dennett stepped forward, placing a hand gingerly on her halla’s flank. For his part, the animal didn’t protest, but rather allowed himself to be led away.

Lavellan allowed herself to be led into Skyhold proper, absently following Krem as he moved through the hall and past Josephine’s office to the War Room, pausing only briefly to take a drying cloth from a servant as they moved. She was dripping water everywhere, but someone had built the fire in the room in preparation for their arrival and as the warmth of the flames washed over her, some of her shivers began to dissipate. Krem draped the cloth about her shoulders before stepping a careful distance away, staring down at the carved wooden table in front of him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

At some point on the way back to the hold, Lavellan’s mind had fallen blank. Part of her recognised the feeling for the shock it was, but the rest of her was grateful for the lack of thought and feeling. It allowed her distance to collect herself, even as with each passing minute it seemed harder to drag herself back to the present.

Josephine and Cullen stepped inside the room, faces sombre as they stepped around to the other side of the table. Krem stayed next to her, and she was grateful for his presence, all too aware that this turn of events affected him as much as herself.

“Leliana sent word ahead.” Cullen said, his face a stony mask.

Lavellan forced herself to step up to the table. She put her hands on it, staring at the maps and pins that littered it. There was always another campaign, always an event to prepare for. She looked at the glinting pin that represented one of Josephine’s operations – it was positioned over the city of Val Royeaux, and marked the preparations for Cassandra’s inauguration ceremony.

There was to be a parade, she remembered, a grand tour about all of Andrastrian Thedas shortly after. She was supposed to be one of the guests of honour.

And that paled in importance to her to the fact that Bull was gone.

She took a long breath, pulled herself by inches out of the fog that was swirling in her head. Falling to pieces could wait until later.

“What do we know?” She asked in a hoarse voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for psychological abuse in this chapter.

Bull came to with a throbbing headache and shackles on his wrists and ankles.

He was naked, mostly, with nothing but a small scrap of cloth tied about his waist that he knew had to have been put there by someone else. He hoped whoever it was that had stripped him had enjoyed the show. He was propped up against the wall of a dark room, and was aware of a gentle vibration rolling up through the floor, like the movement of a carriage over smooth ground.  

As wake-ups went, he’d had worse.

Somewhere above him and just out of sight, something was dripping - the noise was just out of sync with his heartbeat. He frowned, and tried to put the sound out of his mind by focusing on tallying his options for escape. His body was gripped with a low-grade ache, muscles stiff and sore after being in one position for too long. His ankle was complaining, loudly, but he filtered out the pain and ignored it, choosing instead to try and test the manacles on his wrists, to see how hardy they were.

As soon as he moved his hands, bright runes flared on the surface of the shackles and a bone-numbing cold encompassed his entire hand. He hissed, resisting the urge to try and shake the feeling away. After a minute, the burning cold passed, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake as blood started circulating back into his freezing palms. The stumps on his right hand tingled with phantom pain for a long time after the cold had dissipated.

“Alright,” He said to himself, “Let’s not do that again.”

He looked down at the manacles and, sure enough, he could see the etchings where the runes had been carved into the metal, even though the light had faded from them. The shackles on his feet were marked in a similar way, meaning that too much movement was out for the time being. It was a clever move on Tama’s part – iron manacles alone couldn’t hold him and she knew it, but mix it in with a little magic and he was just as constricted as anyone else would be in this situation. He was almost impressed – manacles like that would have been damn expensive, and it wasn’t like the qunari to waste money on things like hunting down and capturing one rogue tal-vashoth.

He must have  _really_  pissed them off.

_Drip_

He put his head back against the wall and closed his eye. He took a deep lungful of air through his nose, and though the stink of rotting straw was strong, underneath it there were tones of pine and conifer. He could still hear, though it was muffled through the wall, the song of mountain larks. He was still somewhere in the Frostbacks, then, and couldn’t have been unconscious for more than half a day at most. If the qunari had moved as soon as they got their prize, that meant they had a few hours advantage on the Inquisition, but if the Inquisitor kept to her promise, that much of a head-start would count for little.

The vibration under him drew his attention next. It was too smooth, really, to be made by a carriage, but the small room he was in was definitely moving. He could hear the soft footfalls of some sort of beast-of-burden if he strained himself. He frowned, confused for a moment, then remembered the aravel that had been at the camp the night before.

Oh, but the Boss was going to be  _pissed_  when she found out about that.

_Drip_

If there was an aravel, Bull rationalized, there would need to be a mage to power it. He considered the travellers that had been with Tama and instantly dismissed both of the qunari as potential sarebaas. No qunari would allow themselves to be both sarebaas and free – it was a contradiction both in terms and in their duty. Tama, of course, he could dismiss and unless Gatt had a talent that had developed far too late in his life, he could be struck from consideration as well. That left the other elf, the one Bull didn’t know, the one that Tama had called Vida.

And in that case, Bull owed the young spy an apology for underestimating his talents. If he could hide a magical gift from the soldiers of the Inquisition (with no small amount of ex-Templars in their number, even for the decimation of the red ones at the Boss’ hands) then the spy was actually better than Bull had originally esteemed. Of course, this presented another problem. Tama was associating with an unrestrained sarebaas, which in and of itself didn’t make sense.

A voice, not unlike the Inquisitor’s, whispered in his mind.  _A riddle on an enigma, in a puzzle in a trap._

_Drip._  Went the drip.

(That was going to get annoying quickly.)

Bull frowned, bringing his attention back to his surroundings. One thing that he was painfully aware of throughout all of this that it was remarkably hard for him to focus – his thoughts were like rabbits in his mind, each trying to race away from him before he forcefully brought them to heel. It occurred to him nearly immediately that he’d been drugged, even more than with just whatever unconsciousness-inducing shit had been in the food he’d eaten (and he was a damn idiot for trusting Tama with that one, but he could yell at himself later). Part of him was annoyed at the prospect, but another part meant that he now had an identity for the two qunari who had previously been unnamed to him. They were re-educators, from Seheron most likely (with the underhanded tactics he had seen) and with his weapon and clothing gone, and manacles on his wrists that information was about as valuable a tool as he had.

He added it to the pile of facts he was gathering about this little expedition. Someone wanted him, and they wanted him badly enough that they were willing to spend some hard money on bringing him in alive. He didn’t think for a moment that it was just for his winning personality – you didn’t send a tamassran, two re-educators, a viddathari and a sarebaas after a washed-up tal-vashoth just because you felt like it. Even if you did, you didn’t ask them to bring him back alive. No one brought tal-vashoth back alive, they were killed on sight because that’s simply what you  _do_  with tal-vashoth. The actions didn’t make sense when he put himself as endgame.

That meant he wasn’t endgame.

_Drip_

Suddenly, a chill raced up his spine, one that he couldn’t blame on the temperature of the carriage or on the manacles on his list because  _of course_  he wasn’t endgame. What was he, after all, but a washed-up mercenary captain who happened to have friends in high places? They wouldn’t waste time or effort on him if there wasn’t a bigger prize to be gained from it, if there wasn’t someone else that could be brought to heel through him.

Say, for example, the leader of the most important military army in Southern Thedas - the woman that Bull happened to be sleeping with.

He swore, hotly, under his breath and clenched his fists. The action sent a fresh wave of ice flooding through his hands, but he mostly ignored the sensation as Tama’s voice came back to him – sounding as pained and broken as it had the night before around the campfire.

_They would have let you go if you hadn’t loved her._

He wasn’t the prize, he realized, he was the bait.

He growled, deep in the back of his throat. There wasn’t anything he could do about it right now, even if that was the case. He was bound, stuck in the back of an aravel, uncertain of where he was and even less sure about where he was going. He needed more information before he could make any sort of move.

He leant his head back against the wall.

“Five hundred bottles of beer on the wall,” He sung to himself, loud enough that the qunari outside could hear him, “Five hundred bottles of beer.”

—

“Four hundred and sixty-three bottles of beer on the wall, four hundred and si-”

The aravel landed with a harsh thump and Bull’s hands jerked forward as he fought to keep his balance. A fresh wave of cold laced through them, this time rushing up to his elbows as well as shooting through his hands. He grit his teeth against the sensation and the blinding light of the runes, until after a minute it passed, leaving him panting and foul-tempered.

_Drip_

The door to the aravel opened, and Bull blinked in the sudden onslaught of harsh light after the darkness that had been around him for hours.

The doors were opened on a setting sun, the glare making the person who stepped into the aravel little more than a black outline on a too-bright backdrop.

It didn’t help the person much – they were big, not quite as big as Bull was, but still much too large to be one of the elves or even Tama.

“So I’m just going to call you Curly, hope you don’t mind.” Bull said to the outline, looking at the way the man’s horns curved into a graceful twist. The Re-educator said nothing, and with the sun against him, Bull couldn’t read the man’s expression, though he did see the man’s fingers twitch by his side.

_Drip_

“You know,” Bull tried again, “You’ve got a leak somewhere.”

For a long moment, the other qunari did nothing but stand in the doorway and look at Bull. Then he reached very deliberately into a pouch hanging off his belt loop and pulled out a small glass vial. It glinted in the light, Bull could see a clear liquid inside it, glinting slightly in a way that made his insides turn cold.

Qamek.

The re-educator put the vial on the floor a few feet away from where Bull was sitting, turning without another word to the door. He stepped through it quickly, closing it behind him and plunging Bull into darkness once more.

“Most people buy me a drink  _before_  they tie me up.” Bull shouted through the door, feeling mildly better even as he received no response.

_Drip_

He growled, settling back against the carriage wall and shifting his hips to alleviate the ache that was spreading through his body. He was starting to get hungry, the back of his throat was beginning to feel dry and parched, and the short exposure to light had ruined his dark vision completely. His fingers were still numb from the cold of the shackles, and Bull had a feeling that the runes were getting stronger every time he shifted his hands or feet. He wondered how long before the cold would engulf him completely.

As he grew used to the gloom around him again, he noticed that the bottle of qamek had been left in the only patch of sunlight in the otherwise dark carriage. It glinted at him, motes catching the light in its depths and throwing back light in a way that made Bull feel sick to his stomach.

“That’s real subtle,” He grumbled, looking at the vial, “Real fucking subtle.”

_Drip_

“Assholes.”

—

“Three hundred and eighteen bottles of beer on the wall.”

_Drip_

“Three hundred and eighteen bottles of beer.”

_Drip_

“Take one down, pass it around,”

_Drip_

“And use it to fix that fucking leak,”

_Drip_

“Three hundred and seventeen bottles of beer on the wall.”

—

The next time the aravel stopped, Bull was getting low on patience and bottles both. It was late at night – he could no longer see the bottle of qamek, though he knew it was there, pressing on his thoughts even as he tried to distract himself from his predicament with anything he could think of.

His shoulders were aching, his mouth had started to feel gluey an hour or so ago, and his bladder was desperately full. He was hungry too, a gnawing sensation in the bottom of his stomach that so far he’d managed to ignore fairly successfully. A headache was beginning to press behind his eye as well, and even the noises of camp preparation outside his cell were shooting small bursts of pain into his skull like knives.

So he was dehydrated, and his mouth tasted like shit.

_Drip_

Some time later, no-one had come to see him, and he began to smell some sort of meat as it roasted over a fire. The smell made his stomach churn slightly, but he ignored the sensation as best as he was able. He knew that any food the qunari gave him would probably be laced with something, if they gave him anything at all.

A low, tense susurrus of conversation started in the camp outside. It was muffled enough that Bull couldn’t make out individual words through the wood of the aravel, but it made a welcome change to the dead quiet that the qunari had been giving him all day. In a way, the enforced silence was almost a mark of respect to him – they still believed him dangerous even shackled and chained as he was – but it was almost a frustrating thing to be back amongst people who wouldn’t automatically underestimate him based on his appearance. It was probably a crutch he’d been leaning on too long, but the tendency of humans to do just that had often made things so much easier for him. The pop and crackle of the fire drowned out the individual words of the conversations that the qunari were having, but the tone of them was something tense, worried.

_Drip_

Bull twitched, and scowled up at the roof.

The door to the aravel suddenly opened, letting in a gust of cold wind and the second re-educator. This one, Bull saw, had horns that swept straight back from his head, though one was broken near to his skull, and he had a sick little smile on his face that Bull didn’t like the look of. There was always something wrong with re-educators that actually enjoyed their job.

He decided to ignore the way the man’s face was twisted into some sick shadow of delight. “You gonna let me piss any time soon?” He asked instead, tilting his head up on the man, regarding him with feigned disinterest.

“Cleanliness is a tenant of the qun.” The man said, “It is not something that tal-vashoth understand.”

“See, you say that,” Bull said, baring his teeth in a nasty smile, “But the qunari aren’t the only civilisation in the world to have thought up the chamber pot.”

_Drip_

“Or, coincidentally, proper thatching.” The last, he said with a pointed look to where the sound of the drip originated from.

The other qunari scowled, and tossed something in Bull’s direction. It landed in the circle of his arms, and Bull looked down at it. A bottle, stained and old, empty and without any sort of capping device. He looked back up at the man and raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“If you break it, you will not be given another one.”

“But I’ll have a weapon, it’s a nice trade-off, don’t you think?”

The re-educator scowled. Bull gave him his blandest smile.

“it’s a wonder that so many people don’t like the qunari, you know? I mean, this is a real classy establishment that you’ve got going.” He resisted the urge to move his hands as he spoke, still shackled as they were. “No food, no water, restricted to one spot and unable to move for an entire day – those are just the marks of the epitome of hospitality.”

“Food and water are tenants of the qun.” The re-educator said, his voice insistent and angry, “tal-vashoth are not granted such privileges.”

_Drip_

Bull settled back against the aravel wall, almost beginning to enjoy himself. “See, again I’m pretty sure that most of the rest of Thedas exists  _somehow,_  Sunshine.”

The qunari scowled at him. “You said you needed water.” The man snapped, “You also said you needed to relieve yourself.” He looked pointedly at the bottle between Bull’s legs. “Soon one problem will solve the other, don’t you agree?”

That said, he stormed out of the aravel, slamming the door shut behind him.

“And he said  _I_  was disgusting.” Bull complained to the room around him.

_Drip_

He sighed. “One hundred and fifty eight bottles of beer on the wall.”

—

The door opened again.

“You know, with all these interruptions, I’m never going to finish my song.”

“I have food.” Tama said softly.

“What’s it laced with?” Bull opened his eye and glared at her as she entered the aravel.

She sighed before she knelt in front of him. She placed a bowl of meat between his knees before reaching out and gently running her fingers along the side of his face.

He jerked away from her. “Answer the fucking question, Tama. Don’t give me this caring tamassran, bad ben-hassrath  _crap_.”

She flinched like he’d struck her. He didn’t buy it for a second – he was a fool to trust her as little as he did before and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

Silence reigned for a long moment in the aravel.

_Drip_

“Are you not hungry, Ashkaari?”

She laid her hand on his arm, he jerked away, hissing when the movement activated his manacles. This time, ice shot all the way up to his shoulders, leaving his arms completely numb for a few good seconds after the light flared down.

“The last food you gave me had shit in it,” Bull panted after a moment, “So forgive me if I’m not prepared to trust you again.”

“Oh Ashkaari,” She sounded disappointed as she reached forward and rubbed her hand over the top of his head. “I am trying to help you, do you not see?”

“Yeah, I can see how drugging me and chaining me up really constitutes as  _helping_. Thanks for getting rid of that confusion for me.”

_Drip_

“I have never laced your food, Ashkaari, and I had no intentions to start.” She said after a time, pain obvious in her expression.

“Having your pet sarebaas be the one to give me the food really doesn’t absolve all that much.” Bull told her. She winced, he felt momentarily satisfied that she hadn’t thought he would pick that one.

She sighed, picking up the bowl and stepping away from him. “The poison wasn’t in the food, Ashkaari. If you were still what you once were, you never would have eaten.” She stepped away from him. “The poison was on the outside of the bowl.”

She left the aravel.

He was given no more opportunities to eat or drink that night.

—

His throat was dry, his stomach almost painfully empty.

The night had passed with no sleep – every time he started to drift off, someone had mercilessly shoved the aravel so it rocked violently. The more asleep he’d been, the more likely he had jerked his hands up to stop his tumble, and the ice when it came now was shooting nearly all the way up his neck and down his torso. His legs, too, were victim to the shackles – the ice crept up beyond his knees when he moved, and his ankle was protesting the cold by violently aching. He was pretty sure it was swollen. He was also pretty sure he didn’t want to look at it. He knew that if the manacles were on much longer, the lack of movement he was allowed for his hands and feet and the coldness of the ice might lead to the beginnings of frostbite. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

In the end, he’d started up his counting again, in order to stave off sleep and boredom both.

At some point, Curly had re-entered the aravel, but the qunari seemed unwilling to do anything more than stare at him as he counted down – a slightly unnerving presence that Bull did his very best to ignore.

_Drip_

“One bottle of beer on the wall.” Bull said, feeling a sense of accomplishment, “One bottle of beer.”

The re-educator watched him, Bull almost thought he saw a touch of relief in the man’s eyes.

“Take it down, pass it around – ”

_Drip_

“How many bottles of beer on the wall?” He turned towards the man, grinning widely in obvious invitation. He was disappointed, but not surprised, when the man refused to answer.

“Not even going to help me finish the song huh?” Bull asked him, tilting his head to the side. “Fucking ben-hassrath never know how to have fun.”

The other qunari said nothing, just stared him down. Bull sighed, leaning back, trying to ignore the dehydrated throbbing of his head. Part of him knew he was just making it worse by talking, but a larger part of him was relishing in the fact that something he was doing was getting under the skin of these bastards.

_Drip_

“I know a song that gets on other people’s nerves.” He sung, after a long moment of silence. Curly stepped over to him suddenly, fist lashing out and striking Bull across the side of the face. Unable to catch himself, Bull fell to the side, the manacles reacting to his movement and shooting ice up his entire body. He spat blood out of the side of his mouth and started to laugh, a cracked, almost broken sound that croaked with his dry throat and made his chest feel like it was on fire.

“Other people’s nerves,” He singsonged through the laughter, meeting the eye of the ben-hassrath agent with all of the defiance he had left, “ _Other people’s nerves._ ”

—

By the time Tama came to see him again, another full day had passed. Without sleep, food or water, Bull’s throat was now far too dry for him to sing, and his head was threatening to split open from pain. His stomach was twisted and ached from the lack of food, his limbs felt strangely weak and too heavy to move.

The door opened, and Bull groaned, forcing a weak “Piss off” out past cracked lips in a voice as dry and brittle as dead leaves.

Tama ignored his words, instead stepping towards him. In one of her hands was a water-skin, in the other was another bowl of cold meat. “Oh Ashkaari.” She breathed, looking down at him with something like horror in her face.

He probably looked a sight – his breathing was laboured, his lips cracked, eyelids gummed up and puffy. He was pretty sure that Curly’s punch had left him with a real shiner of a bruise over the side of his face, knew that there was dried spittle and blood running down his cheek that he wasn’t able to wipe away with his hands constrained as they were. He ached everywhere, he was exhausted, and as much as he tried not to look, his eye kept being drawn back to the food and water in Tama’s hands.

_Drip_

She placed the bowl and water-skin on the floor of the aravel, reaching into the waistband of her pants and drawing out a small cloth. This she wet with water from the skin, and ran it over the side of Bull’s face. He was too weak to pull away, but he mustered his best glare for her.

Her hands were soft and gentle and just as he remembered them. They were cool on the throbbing side of his face and soothing like only a tamassran’s hands could be.

“Piss off.” He tried again, words almost indistinguishable from a groan. Again, she ignored him.

Tama placed the water-skin to his lips. He tried to jerk his head away, but all that happened was the action made the world spin, and he  groaned through gritted teeth as the pain threatened to overcome his senses.

“Your Inquisitor has sent your Chargers to come look for you,” Tama said in a quick whisper, “She is being restrained by her advisors and cannot come herself. They are worried that she will be too reckless, that she will let her other duties fall to the wayside and they have not allowed her to join the hunt.”

He said nothing, simply glared at her furiously. She placed the water-skin to his lips again, and again he refused to drink.

_Drip_

She sighed, “You need to be alive for them when they come, Ashkaari.” She wet the cloth again, drawing it over his face, touching it to his lips. Unconsciously, his head followed the cloth as it pulled away, his throat burning with thirst.

Her fingers replaced the cloth on his face, running over the edge of his eyepatch in a sympathetic gesture. He tried to glare at her, but his head was so heavy, and his vision was spinning and making it difficult to focus.

“You chose well,” Tama said, “She’s almost clever enough for you.” Her voice was a soothing cadence that made him want to relax, even though he knew it was dangerous to do so. “She saw straight through the stage we left for her, and sends your men on the fastest horses she has as I speak to you.”

The cloth was back again a moment later, and again she traced it over his lips before working to clear away some more of the grime that had gathered on his face. He did his best to ignore the burn in his throat.

“If your aqun-athlook is as clever as your Inquisitor is, you need to stay alive for him to find you.” He felt cool water dribble over his lips as she took the water-skin and tipped it over his mouth. Of its own accord, his mouth opened and he swallowed convulsively, the water bringing sweet relief, even as he fought against his body’s reaction and tried to pull away. Tama brought the skin to his lips and he swallowed like a babe at the teat – completely unable to stop himself.

He had to stop, he had to spit the water out. He knew it, and he fought against his body desperately as he swallowed again and again, Tama pulling the skin away every so often so that he could breathe, before replacing it once more. She made soothing noises when he whimpered in protest, her hand cool and gentle on his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Ashkaari,” She said, very quietly. “But you need to stay alive.”

Something light started bubbling through Bull’s chest, and the world suddenly seemed very bright and far away at the same time. A gentle haze of bliss descended over his mind and it worried him, even as he wanted to lose himself in it, let himself go and just relax into the feeling. Tama gave him more water, he drank it greedily, and when she put food to his lips he relaxed and ate, feeling his body respond in relief that it was finally getting sustenance. He felt better, all of a sudden. He wondered why he had fought so hard before.

He started to smile, as bliss washed over him. He knew that she had drugged him, but it seemed to him to be  _funny_  more than anything else, and he giggled helplessly a little bit. It was a sound that made her wince, though she didn’t stop feeding him, didn’t stop running her hand over the base of his horns like she had a long time ago when he was small. He was an idiot, he thought, a great big idiot to fall for their trap, to walk into it without thinking. He always thought he was so clever, and he never stopped to think how his cleverness could be damn well used against him.

His laugh turned helpless, then trailed away into nothing as Tama’s hands still kept rubbing soothingly over his horns.

_Drip_

She waited a while longer, fed him the rest of the meat in the bowl, gave him more water. He felt better, lighter, his throat was wetter than it had been in two days.

“Little Ashkaari,” She said at last, in the sing-song voice he remembered from his childhood, “You need to start fixing your mistake.”

Which one? He asked himself, panicking slightly,  _which one?_  There had been so many mistakes in his life, each one slightly worse than the last. He’d lost so many friends, done so many things wrong. He’d wound up as a tal-vashoth and when he’d finally accepted that life, he’d been captured again like a damn idiot.

“Not any of those mistakes, my dear one,” Tama said softly, her hand never stilling in it’s gentle movement, “Forget them.”

It was so easy to put them aside when she asked, to concentrate on her soothing voice and her gentle hands. He loved her, she was his Tama, no matter what she did to him, he would probably still always love her.

Her expression turned sad, almost disappointed. “Oh, little Ashkaari,” She breathed, mouth twisting into a rueful, bittersweet smile, “That’s not a good thing.”

_Why?_

She didn’t answer him, instead she turned her eyes away and let the smile fall from her face. Her skin was almost black in the gloom of the aravel, but her eyes were reflecting light back from the open doorway, and they shone honey wet as she looked at something very far away.

_Drip_

“Why don’t you tell me of your Inquisitor, Ashkaari?” She asked after a time, and immediately his head was full of the small elf. A rush of affection for her made him smile as his mind became full of her scent after sex, the dry, warm heat of her body on top of his, hands gently ghosting across his scars like her touch would be enough to hurt him if it was any harder. She was so quick, so damn clever. She asked questions about everything and filed the information away, pulling it out again in the form of ideas at the drop of a hat. And her voice was a gentle thing that could be so wicked when she wanted it to be, when she was bound beneath him, purring honey-coated pleas into his ears that made him ache just thinking of it.

“Tell me of how she fights.” Tama said, hand never stilling on his horns.

Something pushed up in Bull, then. Some voice in the depths of him that rejected that idea, that tried to overcome the haze of bliss in his mind with one of despair, one that screamed  _no_ as loud as it was possibly able. But the voice was distressing and very far away, like it was at the other end of a long tunnel, and Tama’s hands were on him, her voice gentle and soothing and he relaxed into her again by degrees.

_Drip_

“Tell me how she fights, Ashkaari,” Tama asked again, “I want to know how she fights. Will you tell me?”

He did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this one is, this part of the fic is kicking my butt a little.

In the end, it was disgustingly easy to slip away from Skyhold.

She went after dark, using the ash from her fireplace to darken her hair to a dull black (and taking time and care to make sure the red didn’t shine through anywhere). She scraped her hair back into a high tail – the kind she never wore because it made her face too severe, too angular; all jutting cheekbones and sharp chin and not an inch of softness to be seen. Her tapered ears stood out stark from the sides of her head when she glanced into her looking glass, her dark vallaslin stood out on her cheekbones, under her too-large, catlike eyes. She was a wild-looking thing even when she softened herself, but in the mirror her reflection was feral, almost alien.

She sighed. It didn’t matter what she looked like, all that mattered was she didn’t look like _herself_.

She took a rarely-used pot off the corner of her vanity and opened it gently, scooping out some of the skin-toned cream inside and dabbing it onto her face. She looked into the mirror and smiled at the results of her work – the cream was thick enough that her vallaslin, freckles and scar were all covered once she’d spread the cream over her face. It wouldn’t stand to a close examination, no, but how many shemlen ever looked at an elven servant _closely_?

She frowned at her nose out of habit more than anything. There was nothing she could do to soften the break in it, but she put it out of her mind as she slipped the cream into a side-pocket of the travelling bag she’d made up in secret over the last few days. Her armour was tucked into the bottom of the bag, everything else she needed was on top of it in case someone cornered her and wanted to see what she was carrying.

Finally, she shucked off her clothes, putting on instead a long servant’s skirt and a loose cotton blouse that she’d taken from the stores a day ago. She wrapped a long linen bandage around her mark, and when she was satisfied that none of the green glow would show through, she slipped off her boots and tucked them neatly under her bed. She didn’t like having to move around barefoot in the snow, but details like a servant-elf wearing shoes was just the sort of thing that would make a guard pay closer attention to her than she would like. Satisfied in her appearance, she left her tower.

She stole quietly through her own hold, down the many stairs that led from her tower, briefly into the main hold, then through the door that led to Josephine’s office. Here, she took a quick left, went down another flight of stairs and crossed underneath the main hold, through the cavernous store-rooms that connected to the kitchen. She had forgotten the freedom of walking barefoot, of her feet not making the barest sound against the stone as she moved, skirt shifting around her with barely a rustle. She stepped into the kitchen, past the dog sleeping in the corner, past the long-table with its herbs and cheeses waiting for the morning. The fire had burned down to nearly nothing overnight, the red coals still glowing cheerily. She resisted the urge to stop a moment and warm herself – it was always so terribly cold in the mountains.

A movement at the edge of her vision made her turn, one hand clutching her chest, the other moving to the hilt of the dagger tucked into her waistband.

A ginger cat mewled indignantly at her and went back to washing itself, deciding that it wasn’t worth her attention. She frowned at it – the movement she’d seen had surely been bigger than that, hadn’t it? – before she let herself relax once more, stealing out of the kitchens with a final backwards glance.

She closed the door to the kitchens behind her, walking down the stairs and towards the stables. She slipped into the dark, wooden building, sliding past the stalls until she reached the very last one on the left. Here, she stopped, turned and worked the door’s bolt out of it’s holder.

“Kai,” She called quietly, “ _Emma lath,_ it’s time to go.”

The halla looked sleepily at her and flicked an ear. His nostrils flared as he took her scent, then he wandered forward.

She pressed her forehead against his face for a moment, smiling, before she stepped back and ran a hand along the velvet-like fur below his eye. “We need to move.” She said to him, and he snorted at her.

As quickly as she was able, she slipped the saddle bags she had onto him, securing them with straps and then waiting a moment, looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

He looked at her and tossed his head slightly.

“ _Kai._ ” She hissed.

The halla let out the gutful of air he’d swallowed, without looking even remotely guilty. Lavellan reached under him and tightened the straps so her gear wouldn’t fall off him when he moved. She threw a blanket over his back, before gently resting her hand against his neck, starting to lead him out of his stable.

“Whossere?” Called a sleepy voice from the other end of the stable.

She didn’t wince, but it was a near thing. She let her accent fal into something that sounded roughened by an alienage as she stepped forward. Kai followed at her heels, but she couldn’t turn to glare at him. “Apologies, ser!” She called to the sleepy voice, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

A sleepy stable-hand, no older than about ten summers stepped out of one of the stalls, glaring at her suspiciously. His eyes were half-gummed together with sleep. “Who’re you?” he asked, frowning, “What’re you doing with that bassard?” The last he said with a glare at Kai that spoke volumes.

She shrugged, letting her mouth twist into a bemused smile. “Honest, I don’t know,” She lied, “Her Worship just sent me to get him. Don’t know why.”

The boy frowned. “Why ain’t he biting you?”

“Should he be?” She made her voice sound confused and uncertain.

The stable boy scowled, rubbing at one eye with a fist made black with dirt. “She sent ya to get him an’ she didn’t even tell you what a bassard he is?” He shook his head, “I know she’s a noble, but I never picked her as mean like the others.”

Lavellan didn’t scowl, but it was a near thing. “I don’t know anything more than I’m supposed to get him.” She said, “I don’t know anything about him being bad, he seems quite sweet.”

“’s an act, lady.” The boy said, wiping his nose on his forearm, “Don’t believe him for a second.”

That said, he turned away from her and went back into his stall, settling down into the fresh straw. “Good luck.” He said, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It was an obvious dismissal.

She stepped past him, leading the halla behind her. She had almost made it to the stable door when the boy’s voice stopped her once more.

“She didn’t say why she wanted him so late at night?” He asked, curiously.

“No.” She shrugged, “But it’s not the strangest request I’ve had from a noble.”

“I hear that.” The boy agreed, settling back down.

Lavellan left the stables, breathing a sigh of relief.

\---

She had almost made it to the main gate when the next distraction presented itself.

The training fields and marketplace were empty of anyone at this time of night, and the clear, post-rain skies were lit well from a full moon, enabling her to walk across the slightly muddy earth with ease. While it was not unbearably cold, she still pressed a little into Kai’s side to share his warmth as he walked next to her. If she’d had the time, she would have dirtied his hide – the white shone like a beacon for anyone who happened to be awake and glancing out of their windows at this time of night. There was nothing to be done about it though than to hope that no-one would look as she stepped up to the main gate.

Cole stepped out of the shadows at the foot of the portcullis.

This time she _did_ jump, and she also said a rather rude word.

“I want to help.” The spirit said with no preamble, his hands wringing together in front of him.

Lavellan sighed, putting a hand to her forehead. “Cole – ” She began, but the spirit shook his head.

“I want to _help_.” He said again, more forcefully, stepping forward. His shoulders were hunched inward and he shuffled slightly from foot to foor as he peered at her from under the brim of his hat. “You hurt.”

She glanced at him, perhaps a little too sharply, because he winced away.

“Loud.” He said, “Longing, lonely. They keep you trapped here when you want to find him. _Watch him for me?_ She asks and I tried to but he was quiet and gentle and I lost him. Then he was _gone._ ”

“Cole, it wasn’t your fault.” She said, stepping towards him. He took a step back.

“The iron Bull is kind, quiet. He smiles when he hurts and laughs to make the hurt go away. ‘You’re alright, Kid. We’re good.’ He helps others because he can. I want to help him.” He flinched. “Following fading thoughts. It’s so loud down here in the camp – ‘I know you’re down here with me Kid, and I know she probably sent you. Go back before you start something.’ – then he goes quiet and I can’t hear him - everywhere else is too loud. Then he’s gone.”

The spirit peered at her. “I want to help you.”

“I’ve only the one mount, Cole.” She said, with reluctance, “I need to ride quickly and Kai can’t carry the both of us – even if he could I doubt he would. You won’t be able to keep up with us on foot.”

“Fortunately,” Said another voice, “I can help with that.”

Lavellan turned her gaze skyward, closed her eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. Then, she grit her teeth, opened her eyes and turned.

Coming up the path behind her and leading two additional horses was Varric, the dwarf smiling like he was a cat that had eaten a canary dipped in a bowl of cream.

“You wouldn’t believe what I saw just an hour ago as I was on my way back to the main hall.” Said the dwarf, “A strange elf coming out of the Inquisitor’s quarters, an elf I’d never seen in Skyhold before – an elf who seemed to know her way around just a little too well.”

“Varric – ”

The dwarf leant back against the flank of one of the horses. “Now, I said to myself, ‘Self, what is the right course of action in this situation?’ And then, of course, I replied, ‘Well self, (I said) obviously you need to follow that person and find out just what it is that they’re doing in Skyhold.”

Lavellan put her face into her hands and tried very hard not to scream in frustration.

“It’s a good thing that you spoke to that stable-boy.” Varric continued easily, “Or Bianca might have gotten to know you a little too well.”

“Of all the _nights_ for this to-”

“Calm down, Lilac.” The dwarf said, “I’m not here to stop you. Honestly, I’m just surprised that it took you this long to snap the way Curly and Ruffles were on your back every other minute about your _pressing need_ to stay at Skyhold when your boyfriend is somewhere AWOL with only the Chargers out there looking for him.”

“Walls pressing in, another meeting, another distraction. Reports aren’t coming in fast enough, it’s been three days with no sign. I should be out there looking. I should be out there _finding him._ ”

“Well said, Kid. My point exactly.”

“I hate both of you so much right now _._ ”

Varric laughed. “I tipped the stable boy two silvers, by the way. He’s not going to our lady spymaster until tomorrow morning now.”

Lavellan met the dwarf’s confident stare with a plaintive one.

Cole stepped towards one of the horses. It nickered softly at him, before it mouthed at his shoulder. “It doesn’t understand.” He said, “but it wants to help us too.”

Lavellan threw up her hands. “Alright!” She said at last. “You can come with me.”

“See, your Inquisitorialness, was that really so hard?”

She scowled at Varric as they got on their mounts. He gave her his best grin back.

\---

They travelled hard for four days before the caught up with the Chargers, and they would probably have ridden right past them if it hadn’t been for Skinner.

They were on a narrow pass in the foothills of the Northern Frostbacks. They had been following a steep, rocky valley for about a day, keeping well away from the edge that fell in a sheer cliff face to their right. The path they were on was little more than a goat-track, too narrow and dangerous to ride, so instead they were walking the horses and halla. For the last hour, Lavellan hadn’t quite been able to shake the feeling of being watched, and when dusk fell, it all came to a head.

Varric had found a clearing a short way up the hill and just off the path, and they picked their way to it, securing their mounts to a stake in the ground before passing around a lump of hard bread and some jerky. They didn’t build a fire – the wet wood would have smoked and given away their position as surely as anything – and as she shivered slightly in the night chill, Lavellan thought she heard a noise. She frowned, turned and looked behind her to see nothing, then turned back towards the others with the intent of asking them if they had heard anything. She didn’t get the chance.

A blade pressed against the base of her throat and she went rigid. Varric looked up and swore, hands already flying towards Bianca.

“You do it and she dies.” Said a voice that sounded far too familiar.

Varric stepped back, hands up in a placating gesture.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.” Said the voice, the one that belonged to Skinner, Lavellan realised, behind her.

“I think your boss would be very put out if you did.” Lavellan quipped, ignoring the pleading look Varric gave her.

“Dalish.”

“Last I checked.”

“Not you,” Skinner said, sounding annoyed, “ _Dalish._ ”

Another elf stepped out of the tree line. “Yes, in a minute, in a min – Oh, hello, your Worship.”

“Test her.” Said Skinner.

“I’m not a –”

“It’s alright.” Lavellan said, with a smile. If there hadn’t been a blade at her throat, she would have shaken her head ruefully. “Use one of our old _dalish tricks_ to find out who I am.”

Across from her, Varric coughed in a way that sounded like he was covering up a laugh.

The tip of Dalish’s staff glowed and magic washed over Lavellan’s skin with a prickling cold sensation not unlike pins and needles. She shuddered, but otherwise stayed as still as she was able.

“Well, that was unpleasant.” Varric said, as the spell washed over him as well.

Skinner and Lavellan both ignored him, Lavellan tilting her head so that she could look back at the other elf. She met the icy glare with all the calm expectation she could muster when there was a possibly poisoned blade resting against her throat.

When the spell changed nothing about her, Skinner’s lip curled in a disappointed sneer and she stepped away without quite bringing herself to sheath her blade.

Lavellan relaxed. “You can stand down, Cole.” She said, almost cheerfully. The spirit released the bottled miasma cloak that was around him, appearing behind Skinner, his stance going from tense anticipation to his normal nervousness in a heartbeat. The elf didn’t jump, but her sneer turned into a scowl when she looked over her shoulder at the young man.

“Sorry.” Said Cole, ducking behind his hat.

Skinner didn’t respond. Instead, she fixed Lavellan with a withering look. “If you are coming, then come.” She said, “Krem wants to speak with you.”

“How does he even know we’re here?” Varric asked, frowning.

“Crow.” Skinner said. It was the last word she spoke until they reached the Charger’s camp.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Gaslighting

Three days had passed since Tama had drugged him. In that time, Bull had been given water just the twice.

The first time, his anger got the better of him, and he’d thrown the full bowl over Curly. The man had just watched, impassive, as ice had overtaken Bull up to the base of his horns. The second time was over a day later.

That time, Bull accepted the water with nothing more than a low growl, too dehydrated to form a protest. The water wasn’t drugged – Bull wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Apart from those two visits, Bull had been left alone in the dark and it had given him an inordinate amount of time to think.

Anger had come first - a low, seething burn that simmered with disillusionment and resentment. It ran through him like acid, aimed at himself, at Tama, even at the Inquisitor for failing to stop him from coming to the qunari camp by himself. He burnt with it when he thought of how _easy_ it had been for Tama to get his secrets out of him, even though he knew – he _knew_ – that he couldn’t have done anything to stop it.

Intentionally or not, he’d betrayed yet another person in his life. How was he even going to be able to look his kadan in the eye after this? After she’d trusted him unconditionally?

The seething disappointment lasted about half a day, before he decided that the emotion was really useless and served him no purpose, trapped as he was in the dark. So he focused his emotions, let them shape his plans, then let the emotion go.

The issue was that he had few plans, and fewer resources.

The door to the aravel opened. Bull levelled his gaze at the interloper, gritting his teeth against a snarl as Tama stepped into the limited light in the room.

“Ashkaari.” She said, like she’d done nothing to him.

He glared at her, then turned his face away. It was childish, but it made him feel a little better.

She sighed. “Speak to me, Ashkaari.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.” He said. In a flash, the rage was back in him – she’d _played_ him like a damn fool, used his weaknesses against him. He turned his head back to her, looked at the distance between them and tried to calculate just how much of that space he’d be able to cross before the shackles took him.

It wasn’t enough – she stopped just outside his range.

He didn’t growl or snarl, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He settled for staring her out, tensed and ready to strike if she moved into range. He was a violent man, and it damn well felt near time enough for him to remember that.

Hell, if they were going to call him tal vashoth _anyway_ …

Tama sighed like he’d disappointed her.

She sat down on the stale straw across from him, very deliberately still out of his reach. “If you will not speak,” she said, “Listen. You need to give up your love for the elf girl. It will only cause you pain.”

“Fuck off.” Bull said. He even managed to make it sound somewhat cheerful.

He ignored the way his hands fisted.

Tama noticed, however. “You cannot love her, Ashkaari. It is driving you away from the qun and into madness.” She said, patient as you please. “This anger in you, it’s the first step down that path.”

“Actually,” Bull said, anger turning into a veneer of calm, “It’s a reaction to being drugged and forced to confess to shit that I’d rather not, but I can see the confusion.” Maybe if he stayed calm, she’d step closer.

“If you were capable of love like you claim, you wouldn’t have told me anything of what you did.” Tama adjusted her skirt. “You know deep in your heart why you told me, Ashkaari. You know that you need to put the good of the qun above any one person.”

He growled, but said nothing.

“You didn’t tell me those things because you were drugged.”

“Bullshit.”

Tama blinked and looked up at him. Her face twisted like she was in pain for the barest of moments, before she fixed her serene expression onto her face once more. It didn’t matter; Bull had seen the flash of weakness.

“You think I’m some little kid who doesn’t know shit anymore, Tama?” Bull said, leaning forward, “You’ve gotta try a little harder if you want me to break.”

“You would give up the qun?”

“I already did.”

She stared at him. “I think you would like to believe that.” Her hand twitched like she wanted to reach out to him but aborted the movement halfway through. “The boy I knew would never give up the qun. He would bend and bend and bend the rules until they suited him, but he would never let them _break._ ”

Bull said nothing, but a disquiet feeling was growing in his gut.

“You told me what you did of the Inquisitor because you knew it was the right thing to do.”

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t quite deny it.

\---

Two days later, Bull was let out of the aravel.

Vida stepped into the aravel with a scowl and deactivated the manacles that held him. It took Bull by surprise, and the moment it took to recover himself and lunge at the elf was the time he needed to activate them again. Bull crashed to the ground, encased in ice.

When the ice released him, he groaned and sat up. “Had to try.” He said, and Vida looked at him with something that was almost pity, before he stepped outside of the door.

“Come.” Said the elf.

Bull staggered to his feet, then nearly fell over again as they protested violently. His spine was a long line of fire up his back from the movement, his hips and knees creaked. “I’m getting fucking _old_.” He said as he rolled his shoulders and stretched against the protests of his limbs. When feeling had fully returned to him, he ducked his head through the aravel door and stepped out into the dawning light of a cold, spring day.

There were mountains on all sides, and there was no way to tell where he was. The forest was thick and dense, though a ravine fell away sharply about 20 paces away from the aravel. The boss probably could have told him where he was down to the last damn inch, but Bull was nowhere near a tracker, and he knew that he was hopelessly lost.

Of course he was, they never would have let him out of the aravel otherwise.

His bad ankle twinged in protest of the lack of brace, and ahead of him, Vida jerked his head in an impatient gesture for Bull to follow. He did – he didn’t even try to attack the elf again because he was feeling _charitable._

He was lead to a slow-moving stream. “Bathe.” Vida said, “We’re getting sick of the stink of you.”

“If you let me go, that wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“I’d much rather kill you.” The sarebaas replied. “Leave your carcass for the birds.”

“You’re welcome to try. We’ll see how that goes for you.”

Vida scowled and looked right at him, making a gesture with his left hand. Ice shot up the length of Bull’s arms and legs.

“Bathe.” The elf snapped.

“You gonna watch? If you are, I can make it a show.” Bull stepped into the water as the ice fell away from his arms and legs. The experience was quick and uncomfortable; Vida kept a close eye on him and would send ice shooting over him for seemingly random reasons. If Bull hadn’t already decided the guy was an asshole, the experience would have cemented the idea in his mind. Vida, for his part, seemed to take great pleasure in his vengeance.

He held grudges, then. Good to know.

He stepped out of the water, shaking his head like a dog.

“There is no order to this place, Ashkaari.” Tama said behind him almost softly.

He didn’t jump, but he did look up at her, and as he did so he took note of the way that Vida’s pose had gone rigid, his eyes turning on Bull with even more sharpness.

He sighed, dropped his arms from where they’d come to a defensive position in front of him. “You’re not afraid I’m gonna tip you down the ravine?”

The older qunari smiled wanly at him and didn’t reply. She turned and walked back up the path they’d come from, he followed her warily. When she stopped on the edge of the ravine he’d threatened to push her down he almost barked out a laugh at the subtle insult.

Because of _course_ she didn’t think he’d push her down the ravine. He was de-fanged, and she damn well knew it. He swallowed his laughter and tried not to wince at the bitter taste of it.

He sauntered up to her and stood at her side. Vida stood at a distance, hands at the ready to freeze Bull should he make any subtle movement.

Eventually, Bull sighed. “Alright,” He said, “We both know how this is going to go. You’re gonna feed me some bullshit line about how the search for me is going in an effort to get me to trust you.” He looked at the ravine, judged the distance of the drop – too high for him to survive unless he was damn lucky so jumping was out of the picture. “Maybe I believe you when you tell me, maybe I don’t. Doesn’t really matter what I believe.” He reached his hand up and scratched his chin. “The important thing is that I doubt. That by comparison I realise I can trust you more than any other person here and then you tell me that I can trust you because you’re a _tamassran._ More, you’re _my_ tamassran.”

“Ashkaari –”

He didn’t look at her. “I can’t trust you.” He said. “Damn if I don’t wish I could but I can’t. You’re the worst one of this whole damn bunch including that asshole over there.”

She laid her hand on his arm and didn’t say anything. She didn’t try to deny it, didn’t try and say it was true.

“Point is, you’re gonna lie. You’re gonna feed me bullshit and eventually I’m gonna swallow it. Why don’t you just skip the middle bit and feed me qamek instead? It’ll be fucking faster.”

She flinched. It was a minor thing, a tiny shiver of her shoulders that he wouldn’t have seen if he hadn’t been looking for it.

“Thought so.” He said.

“I didn’t want for this to happen.”

“Yeah, but you need _me._ You can’t do this without me for some reason and you need me to be as much myself as I can be. You want the Inquisitor and you need me to get her – but there’s more to it than that.”

“She is a very dangerous woman.” Tama dodged, folding her arms and looking at the view from the ravine. Mountains rose all around them, and the scenery would have almost been pretty if Bull had been here under any other circumstances.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Bull said, “I get it. She’s the head of a powerful army with two monarchs in her debt. She’s close friends with the soon-to-be Divine. I get it, Tama, she’s a tempting target.”

He rolled his neck, “She’s also a fucking idiotic target, but that’s just my opinion.”

Tama said nothing; Bull took it as an opportunity to keep talking. “What do you do? Kill her? Sure, that’ll sweep Southern Thedas into chaos, because she’s literally the only thing holding that ant’s nest in check at the moment, and you get to sweep in, conquering whatever’s left over at the end. No real force of sarebaas left in the South, after all, no Templar handlers left for them. All that’s left is the tentative hold the Inquisition has and the limited loyalty of Fiona and Madam De Fer to the Inquisitor.” He blew out a long stream of air. The _Inquisitor_ and not the _Inquisition,_ and it was an important distinction. “I get it.”

“You always did see much.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” He told her, dryly.

She smiled proudly at him and he swallowed the pang of longing that shot through him at the start.

“It’s a _stupid_ idea.” He told her. “It’ll start an exalted march. Tevinter will attack you, Rivain and Antiva, the Free Marches where her clan comes from. They’ll turn on you the instant you move.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Tama said.

“More importantly,” He said in a voice that was cheerful and cutting at once, “I won’t let you hurt her.”

“Would you truly attempt to kill a tamassran and her charges to achieve your goal, Ashkaari?”

He didn’t flinch or blanch, but it was a near thing. He looked down at her, she wasn’t looking at him, her hands were clasped behind her back and her expression was serene. She looked all the world like she was merely delivering a lesson, instructing him on some part of the qun.

She’d cut him to the core and had known the exact words to say to do it.

“You are not a tal vashoth in truth until you can answer that question affirmatively and without hesitation. You still know where you belong. You still know the proper place for your loyalties.”

“I can’t let you kill her.” His voice was almost plaintive, a hard cry from the authoritative tone he’d tried for.

“I won’t be the one who does,” She said, with a pained smile. “There will be no ties drawn between the actions of one rogue tal vashoth and the qunari.” She placed a hand on the side of his face, just below his eye-patch. “I am sorry, Ashkaari. I never wanted to do this to you, but we are both bound by the roles the qun has given us.”

He roared, lunged at her, and the last thing he knew before blackness took him was the sharpest burn of ice he’d ever felt.


	8. Chapter 8

Krem was scowling at her.

Long association with the man had taught Lavellan that this was not a good sign. Time had taught her that when Krem scowled, bad things tended to happen to the person he was scowling at very shortly after.

“Aclassi,” She said, in the sort of clipped, authorial tone she reserved for when she was severely in the wrong.

“Your Worship.”

She wasn’t nervous, but as Krem stood from his spot next to the fire, she found herself suddenly aware of how much _bigger_ and _stronger_ Krem was in comparison to herself. He was human, and in plate armour, and she was little more than a slip of an elf, only a head taller than Varric. She resisted the temptation to take a half step backwards.

_You have fought dragons. Killed them. Plural. Multiple! You should not be afraid of Krem._

She was a little afraid of Krem.

“Care to explain why Lelianna has sent me three crows demanding that I escort you back to Skyhold without delay the instant you arrive?” He asked, folding his arms and tilting his head to regard her with a mix of irritation and annoyance.

“If I said I didn’t care to explain –”

“I’d still make you.”

“Ah.”

She pressed her lips together and folded her hands in front of her stomach. Krem sank his weight into one foot. Skinner stepped around them both towards the fire where the rest of the Chargers were waiting.

‘Technically,” She tried, “I outrank you.”

“Technically, I currently have the authority to void the Charger’s contract with the Inquisition at any time.” Krem told her. Cheerfully. “The Chief gave me full control while he was away.” He straightened out of his pose, though he still retained the air of annoyance. “I do have one question that I want you to answer before I decide one way or the other, however.” He said.

“No, I am not out of my mind.”

“Arguable.” Varric quipped from behind her; she glared at him, before turning back to Krem.

“No, I am not out of my mind.” She repeated, “Yes, I am aware that Cassandra’s inauguration is in less than a month. Yes, I am aware that as the Inquisitor I should be at Skyhold doing Inquisitor things. No, I don’t care.”

She listed them off on her fingers; Krem’s scowl broke into a smirk.

“None of those were my question, Worship.” The man said, “My question is _what took you so long?_ ”

\---

Even searching with the Chargers, it still took three more days for them to find anything of note.

Their route was slow, circuitous, and even with the increased size of their company they backtracked on themselves near constantly to follow a barely-there trail. Every so often, someone would happen upon a scrap of clothing here, an unnatural wheel-rut there, a campfire not covered well enough in a hasty getaway. Lavellan couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was somehow being fed breadcrumbs, that she was somehow being left clues to follow on purpose, rather than through haste. When she mentioned her suspicions to the others, they agreed.

“Does it really matter though?” Varric asked, shrugging his shoulders, “If they want to help us find Tiny faster, I say we let them.”

“It’s curious, though. Every time we almost lose the trail, we find something to point the way again.”

“Maybe they’re just terrible escape artists.”

She smiled at her friend, but even his particular brand of humour couldn’t quiet the voice of unease within her.

Cole didn’t help – with each passing day, the spirit became more withdrawn and nervous, fingers picking at the exposed skin on the back of his hands, rubbing his shoulders, ducking away under his hat. The horses wouldn’t go near him because they were made finicky at best, so he trailed like a duckling after the camp, constantly twitching and looking about. He said nothing, though the Chargers would look at him askance and skirt around him where possible. Skinner seemed to be the only one even remotely immune to him, though Lavellan was unsure whether it was indifference or dislike that drove the other elf’s reactions.

One thing was certain, Skinner certainly didn’t like _Lavellan._

The other elf said nothing to her, sneering at her and avoiding her whenever she was able to. If Lavellan sat near the fire, Skinner would find an excuse to move away. If she spoke to Krem or one of the other Chargers, she was aware of eyes on the back of her neck until the conversation had finished.

“She’s like that with everyone who isn’t part of the crew,” Krem tried to reassure her, when he caught her glancing askance at the other elf.

“I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to shank me in my sleep.”

Krem laughed, “Remember what Bull said about her being on her best behaviour?” His expression sobered, “She’s worried. We all are. She’s just not the best at dealing with emotions.”

The Inquisitor nodded, accepting the explanation. She moved to sit by the fire.

It was the next day, after yet another night of fitful sleep, that they finally had a breakthrough.

They were packing up the camp when Cole stood, back ramrod straight, staring intently into the dense underbrush on the side of the path.

“The Iron Bull,” He said, sounding confused. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. “Dark,” He muttered, “Quiet. Far away.”

“Where?” The Inquisitor stepped forward, a shaking coming over her, one she couldn’t quite control, “Cole, _where?”_

The spirit took off into the trees like a bolting horse. Lavellan swore and leapt onto Kai’s back, urging the halla into a run and trying to pace the boy. Behind her, she could hear the others thundering through the forest as she struggled to keep up with Cole. The spirit moved around trees and under bushes like they were barely there – even Kai couldn’t compete with him and the boy grew steadily further ahead. Just as Lavellan was despairing that she would lose sight of him if the chase moved on much longer, he stopped so suddenly Kai almost ran past him. She turned the beast, then dismounted, looking at Cole expectantly.

“It’s not a nice place.” The spirit said, curling in on himself once more, “I don’t want to go there. It’s full of hurt and hating. A hopeless haze hovering. I don’t like it.”

“Cole, you need to give me something to work with.”

“There.” The spirit pointed.

Lavellan followed his finger. Through the trees ahead of her, she could just make out the outline of an aravel. One of its sails was broken; a wheel hung askew on an axel, a broken set of reins at the front was all that was left of the tether that would have been used to fix the land ship to an animal.

For a moment, Lavellan found herself completely immobile, struck by the affront of it, the incredulity. Then, with an all-over shudder and her heart stuck in her throat, she took a half step forward.

“Is he in there?”

“Yes.” Said the spirit, “He was.”

The Chargers emerged through the forest behind them, one by one, and dismounted. Krem came to stand next to her, and Lavellan found her feet strangely frozen in place as she looked at the carriage.

It was so close.

Krem put a hand on her shoulder.

She stepped forward tentatively, her feet moving without sound over the soft earth. The aravel loomed like a monster, familiar and haunting at the same time. How long had it been since she’d seen one? Far too long, and to see it like this – perverted from its original intention and broken – the only word she had to describe the feeling was numb.

She laid her hand on the door.

“People move all around.” Said Cole, “They won’t let me sleep.” He stepped back away from the aravel, flinching, “Hunger, haunting. Thirst burning in the back of my throat. Cold hands on my head, stroking, careful, caring. _Don’t trust Tama._ ”

Lavellan flinched backwards away from the aravel at Cole’s sudden harshness. Then she shook herself, gathered her wits and put her hand on the aravel’s door, pushing gently.

It swung open, doorway appearing as a sudden, black maw in front of her.

“People are moving all around.” Cole said again, more insistently.

“Put up a guard.” Krem said, sweeping his war hammer off his back and holding it in front of him. The Chargers moved into position, surrounding the aravel. They were all too well-trained to show the unease that floated in the air.

Lavellan stepped up into the aravel, hand on one of her daggers. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom, and when they did she noticed a slumped shape in the far corner of the room. Cautiously, she moved towards it, freezing when it moved.

“He couldn’t fight it all,” Cole said, “He tried so hard.”

Lavellan ignored the cryptic spirit, instead, she took another hesitant step into the land ship. She also ignored the way her heart was suddenly lodged in her throat. “Bull?” She whispered, the word a thundercrack in her ears.

The shape moved again, a head lifting from the mass- one with horns that stuck out almost in a straight line from each other, horns that were almost as familiar to her as her own body.

“I can’t hear him.” Cole whispered from where he hovered outside the aravel door. He sounded distressed; Lavellan could hear Varric muttering something soothing to him in low tones.

She crossed the floor of the aravel in three quick strides. “Bull?” She asked again, strained, insistent.

He looked up. His eye gleamed in the little light that was let in by the open door. For a moment, he looked at her with incomprehension, then something like relief flooded his face. “Hey, Boss.” He said, in a hoarse voice, before a hacking cough shuddered through him.

Her legs gave way.

She landed in the rotting straw in front of him, reaching for him, placing her hands on any part of him that she could reach. She ran her fingers up his shoulders, over his scars, over his eyepatch, her voice stolen away by the swelling emotion in her chest that she couldn’t trust herself to name. She could have wept, she could have laughed.

“You look like shit, Boss.” Bull said, lips twitching into a mockery of a smile, “Just passing comment.”

She let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob, leaning forward, placing her forehead against his, closing her eyes and brushing her broken nose against the side of his whole one. She pulled away at the quick, indrawn hiss of breath he gave, putting her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stop her fingers from shaking. When she was in control over herself again, she smiled at him. “Look at you.” She said, ignoring the quaver in her tone, “You’re not much better than me.”

He laughed, a weak sound that turned into another cough. “Yeah, well, what’s your excuse?” He asked when he could speak again.

She sobered at that, hand coming up to the side of his face. He flinched away from her fingers, and for a moment she left her hand there, hovering uncertainly in the air, before she dropped it into her lap.

He grimaced. “Careful,” He said, apologetic, “I’m a bit banged up.”

“I’ll get you out.”

She ran her eyes over him, not liking what she saw. He was a big man, and that still was true, but there was a lot less of him than there had been. His hands and feet were manacled together; she frowned at them in consideration before she pulled out her lock picks.

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “There’s runes, Boss,” He said.

“I guess I’ll just have to be careful, then,” She replied.

She went to work on his feet first, as she could pick those locks without having to move him too much. He watched her as she worked, exhaustion in the lines of his face, and pushing him to silence. His shoulders were slumped inwards, his eye was a little sunken in and was smudged purple underneath with his weariness. His body was a litany of bruises.

Whoever had done this to him was going to pay dearly for it.

The manacles under her hands gave way with a sudden, loud ‘click’. He groaned and stretched his legs out on either side of her, and when she looked up at him, he met whatever expression was on her face with a tired smirk. She ducked her head to hide a smile, scooting a bit closer to him over the straw. She reached for his hands, pulling them towards her.

“No, wait –!”

Ice shot up from the manacles, over Bull’s arms and torso, up his neck and to the edges of his lips. He grimaced in pain, and she would have dropped his hands, only the ice flew up her arms too, rendering her fingers frozen and numb. She yelped, trying to jerk away, but that only made the cold worse.

“Relax, Boss,” Bull pushed out through gritted teeth, “It’ll pass in a bit.”

She looked at him, at the pain on his face, and forced herself to calm down. The ice faded away and some of the tension left his shoulders.

“See?” His lips lifted the smallest amount, “Easy.”

She put his hands on her lap, the both of them wincing when the ice came again, both relaxing until it passed. “I’ll have you out in a moment, Bull.”

“No rush, Boss.”

A prickle ran down the back of her neck. She frowned, picked up her picks, and ignored it.

She worked the lock, testing each spring in turn. Every jostle and bump sent ice up Bull’s arms, and she winced and apologised every time. He bore it well, but he was still panting after each wave, and she hated adding to his exhaustion.

The final spring fell into place with a click that echoed through the aravel.

“No!” Cole shouted suddenly from the doorway, “Don’t!”

Bull hit her like a freight train as the manacles fell away. She flew forward and out of the aravel, shock and pain making her rigid as she tumbled out and rolled. He was out of the aravel and in front of her before she could get to her feet, pulling her up by the neck. She staggered, grabbing his wrist, feeling him lift her off the ground with one hand.

He started to squeeze, and she couldn’t suck in air to replace that which had been knocked out of her lungs in the tumble. Two burly qunari leapt out of the trees, followed by two elves, and the Chargers found themselves set upon, having to fight off this new foe even as she stared down at the cold impassiveness on Bull’s face.

Her fingers scrabbled on his arm, she looked down at him, shock and surprise prominent in her mind, quickly followed by a burn in her lungs as she couldn’t get a breath in. Desperation shot through her, he wasn’t letting go, _why wasn’t he letting go?_

Spots swam over her vision as she kicked out at him, clawed at his arms, tried to get him to do anything to release her. Around her, her friends shouted and grunted in pain and effort, and through it all, Bull just looked at her with an eerie sort of calm.

“Sorry, Boss,” He said, as her vision started to dim, “It’s nothing personal.”

She couldn’t breathe – she couldn’t – she couldn’t…!


	9. Chapter 9

The Herald stared down at him, eyes wide and horror-filled as she scrambled her fingers over the vicegrip of his hand.

He blocked out the shouts and sounds around him as he looked at her, feeling the qunari moving to engage the Chargers, but not paying it any real notice. Instead he watched as the colour left the Inquisitor’s face, draining slowly from her cheeks and lips as her fingers became more desperate on his arm. Her nails dug in, leaving raised, bleeding welts behind them, and even as the air was leaving her, he could watch her brain turning, spinning, trying to process what was happening.

But he could see, as well, the light that was slowly fading from her eyes, feel her fingers growing weak against his hand. Eventually, they went slack and fell limply to her side.

He let his grip relax a fraction, letting out a long sigh. “Sorry, Boss.” He said, shifting so he could toss her aside.

She moved, sudden and quick, planting her feet against his chest, hands snapping to his arm again. She wrenched herself backwards, his grip slipping in the surprise of it as she dug her thumbs sharply between the bones of his wrist.

She managed a lungful of air before he could get his other hand on her, and he snarled, pressing forward, making his grip as tight as he could –

“Katoh!”

He dropped her.

He staggered backwards, staring at her, then at his hands as shock raced through him. She was glaring between gasping breaths, her hand coming up to her throat and rubbing the red marks he’d left there. Slowly the anger left her features, replaced by disgust and betrayal. He growled at her and stomped forward.

“HEY! CHIEF!”

He turned and spun away just in time to dodge a swing from Krem’s war hammer.

Krem hadn’t been aiming to hit him – if he was, he never would have shouted. The man swung again, again he ducked out of the way, this time dropping into a low fighting stance.

“Come on, Aclassi, that was _pathetic._ ”

The man fell for the taunt. Krem swung a third time.

He caught the hammer as he swung, twisting his grip on it and pressing down on the smaller man. Krem snarled as he pushed back, eyes snapping with fury, feet planted firmly into the ground.

“All due respect, Chief,” Krem said, throwing his full weight on the war hammer between them, “Just what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

He let Krem push, pivoting on his ankle and twisting his grip on the hammer. Krem staggered, the weapon wrenched out of his grip. He slammed his foot into Krem’s back as the man fell past, then looked to the ground to where the Inquisitor should have been.

She was gone.

He scowled, looking around the battlefield for her. A bolt of lightning stuck the ground near him and he spun to face the direction that it had come from. Dalish glared at him, bringing her staff to bear, the tip pointed in his direction and glowing a vivid purple.

“Hey, Dalish,” He said, as he stepped away from where Krem was staggering to his feet, “On your left.”

The elf started, Vida shouted and blew her off her feet with a well-timed mind blast. From that point on, the battle descended into chaos.

All he would recall later would be a series of snapshots – here, he ducked a sword-swing, there a crossbow bolt whistled past him, bare inches from his face. He saw, briefly, a glimpse of Skinner and Cole squaring off against Curly, and at another moment Gatt was charging at Varric with his teeth bared. Through it all, he ducked and weaved, his mind set on finding only one person.

An arrow shattered against the head of his hammer.

“Are you looking for me?”

He turned.

The Inquisitor was standing a few metres behind him, proud and angry. There was a hand print wrapped around her throat, slowly turning purple at the edges, and her eyes were flashing as her hand went to her quiver to get another arrow.

“Bull,” She said, sweet and dark, “We need to talk.”

Sunshine reared behind her, and she moved, quick as lightning. She swung her bow over her shoulder in a fluid movement as she spun around him and then her daggers were suddenly in her hand, and then suddenly in _Sunshine_ , one buried under his jaw, and the other in the middle of his back – right on the line of his spine. Another moment and they were out again, and Sunshine was slumping to the ground with a death gurgle dying in the back of his throat.

He tensed, shifting his grip on the war hammer he was holding as the Inquisitor looked impassively down at the dead qunari at her feet. Then, her eyes snapped to his face again, pinning him with their intensity.

He roared.

She ran.

He chased after her because he was _stupid._

He leapt over Sunshine’s body, staggering slightly on the landing. As a result, he was at just the right height that the smoke-flask she threw behind her hit him on one of his horns, shattering with an explosion of thick, greasy dust that made his eye water and his throat rebel.

_Shit._  He’d seen her do that damn move so many times before and he’d still fucking fallen for it. Now, he knew, she’d double back, come in high for the face and neck, try to disable him in as few moves as possible. He swung his sword in a horizontal arc that would have taken her head from her shoulders if it had connected.

It didn’t connect.

She rolled forward, under his blade, slamming the flat of one side of her daggers against the back of his knee. She hooked around him, her foot catching on his ankle brace as she moved, then she snapped her leg towards her.

He had a moment of realisation before his ankle collapsed under the abuse, ligaments protesting as he hit the ground in a graceless tumble. He kicked out with his other leg, but she was already up and spinning out of his reach once more. The smoke had already started to clear as he got to his feet and cast his eyes about for any sign of the small elf, cursing at himself as he stood.

He caught sight of her sprinting through the battle, ducking blades and weaving around the chaos, and he started after her in a loping run that ate up the distance between them. She looked over her shoulder and he saw for the first time something that looked like it could be a flash of panic in her eyes. She turned back and leapt, catching a low-hanging branch. She used the momentum to fling herself forward –

\- Into Tama.

He swore and staggered forward a few more steps, leg protesting loudly. The Inquisitor’s knees slammed into the older qunari’s shoulders.

Tamassrans were never meant to be fighters. Tama lost her balance and staggered backwards, falling heavily to the ground, head striking it with an audible thump. The Inquisitor let her momentum carry her forward into a roll, coming up dangerously close to the edge of the ravine that both parties had been following for days.

He staggered to a stop as the elf came to her feet and drew her bow in the one motion. She aimed the weapon at the prone qunari at her feet.

“Well.” Said the Inquisitor, polite and cold, “Isn’t this an interesting turn of events.” She could have been commenting on the weather, apart from the slight husk of her voice.

He took a step forward – she drew the bow tighter. He stopped.

So did the other qunari in the clearing.

“As break ups go, I have to say this is probably the most _memorable_ one I’ve had.” The Inquisitor’s voice was still that strange mix of polite and cold, like something was boiling under her voice and she was struggling to keep it contained.

“You kill her,” Said Gatt, from where he stood at Skinner’s knife point, “There’s no reason for us not to kill you.”

“Oh, of course.” The Inquisitor sounded almost friendly, and so unlike herself that he found himself simply staring, “But she’d still be dead, and you’d still be outnumbered.”

“Boss, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m sorry, I think my hands are starting to get a little slippery.” The bow creaked.

He looked at her and she mulishly met his gaze. Tama hadn’t moved – he couldn’t tell if she was playing chicken or if she really was unconscious. He looked back up at the Inquisitor.

He saw the exact moment she realised his plan. Her eyes widened a fraction in realisation, before her bow swung up and around to point at him.

He charged.

She loosed her arrow, it thudded into his shoulder, sending a lick of fire down his arm as the tip struck bone and shattered. He staggered, but kept going even as she slung her bow back up over her shoulder and brought up her hands into a defensive position. He saw her focus narrow, saw her left hand fly towards him, and then a sick green light filled his vision as he slammed into her.

He’d meant to send her into the ravine and stop, but the light in his eye had blinded him, and he felt her hand come up to his horn and yank him off balance. Her other hand slammed into his wounded shoulder and he staggered at the pain that ripped through him.

She fell.

She pulled him with her.

\---

He came awake at the bottom of the ravine, bruised and aching but alive and still moderately whole. His shoulder burned where her arrow had pierced him. He looked down at the wound and then wished he hadn’t.

The arrow shaft had shattered on the way down the cliff face, now it was just a jagged piece of wood sticking out of his shoulder, a ring of inflamed, angry skin around it – which was the only thing that had stopped it from bleeding. A sick urge made him want to touch it – he resisted.

Slowly, and taking care not to jolt the wound, he stood up. His body quickly told him how mmuch of a bad idea that was – his head spun and every muscle in him screamed in pain.

He ignored the sensation, instead casting his eye about for the Inquisitor.

The Boss was a short way away, having rolled and bounced a bit more than he did, and she was in a somewhat crumpled heap. She was on her stomach; her limbs were awkwardly hooked underneath her, one of her legs was twisted and there was a large gash in one of her coat’s sleeves. Underneath the tear, the wound was still bleeding sluggishly, and the usually pristine white of the coat was stained irrevocably by the fall.

He took a wary step in her direction, hesitating slightly when his ankle seemed like it might refuse to bear his weight.

Her bow had been snapped into three pieces by the fall and it hung awkwardly in a bush not too far from where she lay. Her arrows were mostly gone, only one remained in the quiver that lay broken on the ground at the base of the cliff. She looked small, diminished. If someone had told him that he would have been losing a fight against her earlier that day, after seeing her like _this_ , he would have laughed at them.

_But you were losing._ Said a voice in the back of his mind.

He hadn’t fought the way he usually did, hadn’t felt the pull of the battle or seen the lay of the field. He’d been lured into simple traps, let her outplay him in terms of strategy and it _stung_ because it shouldn’t have happened.

_How’s it taste, Hissrad? To lose because you underestimated someone?_

One of her daggers glinted near her hand, the double blades covered in drying qunari blood. It had been so quick, so brutal and efficient, with the natural accuracy of an archer behind those dagger blows. But there was something else there, too, something that had driven that ferocity, and turned the Inquisitor cold.

He knelt down next to the Inquisitor and wrapped his hand around the dagger’s tiny hilt, wincing when the movement pulled at his wound. The dagger was a wicked thing, made of folded aurum, double-ended and sharp. There were runes carefully etched along the blade, promising purification to any cursed thing that touched it. He knew it’s pair almost as well as he knew it – the only difference between the two was where this one promised purification, the other spat corruption.

He looked down at the unconscious elf, her blade in his hand. Her hair was splayed over her face and had caught at the edge of her lips. He reached out without thinking to brush it away, tucking the strands behind one of her pointed ears.

There was a cut on her forehead, shallow, but it had left a trail of dried blood down the side of her face.

He sighed, hefted the blade in his hands.

_She knew your watch word._

The thought made him pause.

He looked at the elf and frowned.

The fact she had known the word wasn’t entirely what he found surprising. She was almost as much a spy as he was, and it wasn’t exactly like it was the sort of thing he kept secret. No, it wasn’t a surprise that she’d used the word in the slightest.

What _was_ surprising, however, was that she’d tricked him into letting her use it, and then trusted that his natural instinct would be to respond to it in the way he had – that it’d be something he wouldn’t ignore, that he _would_ let her go, instantly and without question.

It didn’t matter. It was curiosity and nothing more.

And it had maybe saved her life from him once, but she wouldn’t be able to do it to him again.

_No,_ he thought, looking at the dagger in his hand, _She wouldn’t._

He glanced at her once more, brought the dagger high above his head –

\- Then he plunged it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for how short this is, and apologies also for the massive delay in updating. August was kind of an awful month for me.


	10. Chapter 10

_Well,_ Thought Krem, as he looked at the cliff that the Chief and the Inquisitor had just tumbled over, _I think the technical term for this situation is clusterfuck._

They had a dead qunari – a qunari-qunari, not one of the elves or humans who embraced the qun (and the Chief told him there was a difference) – two live ones and two very disagreeable elven prisoners to deal with. They also had a missing Inquisitor and the _Chief_ , who had possibly gone _insane._ And out of all of the endings he’d imagined for this situation, this particular one hadn’t made the top five.

Hell, it hadn’t even made the list.

He sat down, hard, on the ground under one of the trees ringing the clearing and put his head in his hands, feeling a momentary urge to give way to panic. The look on the Chief’s face as he’d held the Boss up by her neck – cold, calculating, detached – it was a look that scared Krem to the very core of his being.

“Maker’s ass,” Varric said as he heavily sat down next to Krem, “I’m sick of qunari.”

Krem let out a weak laugh, pulling his hands away from his face and looking at the dwarf, “That makes two of us.”

The Chargers had forced the qunari back through sheer force of numbers, and now they stood loosely around their captives, weapons drawn. The qunari stood idly, aware that they were beaten, or perhaps biding their time, and Krem took a moment to study them, a small frown on his face.

Had it been too easy? Had they taken them with too little consequence? If the Chief was capable of deceiving them all like he had, what was possible out of the qunari they had left behind?

He sighed, forced himself to his feet. Varric clapped him on the shoulder as he rose in a show of support that didn’t go unnoticed. “Tie ‘em up!” Krem called to the group at large, “Make sure they don’t try and kill themselves.”

Skinner gave a dangerous smile to the elf she was holding at knife point. The elf looked blandly back, black hair shining in the midday light. He was holding a broken dagger and nursing a deep shoulder wound that was bleeding slowly through the cloth he had pressed against it.

Krem frowned at the sight. “Stitches, don’t let any of them bleed out, either.”

The man saluted him with a roll of bandage.

Settling into the role of leader relaxed Krem more than he was completely willing to admit. It gave him something to focus on as the Chargers moved in and made quick work of restraining their prisoners. If he was thinking about the little things  - Rocky, watch that qunari, he’s going to try and – he was less likely to focus on the things that right now, he really couldn’t fix.

The female qunari came to as Stitches squatted over her, a vial of smelling salts in his hand, her arms already tied behind her back. She looked around for a moment, then sighed, shoulders slumping.

Cole hovered near her, fingers twitching, eyes flicking rapidly between her face and his feet. Krem raised an eyebrow at the sight before he turned to Varric, question already forming on his lips.

Varric sighed, before he got a chance to ask it. “I’ll find out what’s eating the kid.” He said, moving forward, “I don’t quite have Lilac’s touch for it, but it’s probably better that I try than that he scares the crap out of someone else.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we don’t know what’s making him upset.”

Krem sighed and looked once more about the camp before he turned to face the inevitable. The edge of the ravine sat innocently by, and with a clench in his gut he moved forward towards it. He had already put off the inevitable as long as he could, and as much as he didn’t want to look – well, he had to know.

They all had to know.

He winced as he reached the edge, then steeled himself and peered over.

There was a path smashed into the underbrush, branches and earth dislodged in a noticeable slide that disappeared into nothing about halfway down the cliff. The rest of the view was obscured by leafy trees that effectively meant he couldn’t see the bottom of the ravine.

Grinding his teeth against the frustration, he leaned as far over the ravine as he was comfortable, “Chief?” He called, “Your Worship?”

He got no response.

He stayed a moment more, called out their names again, then sighed, moving back to the others where they had now restrained the prisoners and attached them to a horse each.

Rocky saw him, and wandered over. “This is a sodding mess.”

Krem looked down at the dwarf, who was hiding underneath his hood, the only part of him that was visible was the tip of his prominent nose. Krem made a vague, noncommittal noise.

“Chief went off the rails a bit, there.” Rocky tried again – Krem got the distinct impression that he was testing the waters before he said much more, “Don’t know what I was expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it.”

Dalish looked up from where she was tying a restraining rope to one of their prisoners. She yanked it once, a little tighter than it strictly needed to be, then she stood and walked over to them, folding her arms across her chest. “Never thought I’d see the Chief turn on the Boss like that.”

Leave it to Dalish to cut right to the heart of the issue in a sentence.

Krem liked to think he knew the Chief better than most. He didn’t fool himself into thinking he could escape being played by him if the Chief wanted a certain reaction – their conversation in the tavern just before all this shit began had been proof of that being false – but he liked to think that the Chief trusted him with a more accurate version of himself than he gave to most other people. He knew, as well, that the Chief had been happier the past few months than Krem had ever seen him. Relaxed, joking, easy like he ever was, but also… _more_ … somehow. It was subtle, and not something that Krem could really put into words or give a name to, but coming to the Inquisition had been good for the Chief, and not in the least because the Inquisitor had made it so.

“Something’s not right.” Krem said, quietly, clutching onto the idea like it was a lifeline.

Because, Qunari or not, there was no way the Chief would have been able to fool them all so well.

…Was there?

He ran a hand over his face.

“So, the big question is do we go after Tiny and her Inquisitorialness; or do we take _them_ back to Skyhold?” Varric had returned, with a wan look on his face, “Because I don’t know about the rest of you, but I really don’t want to be the one who has to tell the Spymaster that Lilac got herself pitched into a ravine by threatening her boyfriend’s _mother._ ”

Krem looked sharply at Varric, who shrugged and gestured with his elbow towards a still-agitated Cole.

“I thought the qunari didn’t have mothers?” Dalish asked.

“Well, not in the traditional sense, but apparently Tiny’s anything but traditional.”

“Not how I’d want to meet the in-laws in any case.” Rocky quipped.

Krem gave a weak smile, recognising the gallows humor for what it was – an attempt to make them all feel somewhat less stressed about the events they found themselves within.

Cole stepped towards one of the qunari, then, wringing his hands and hiding under his hat. The qunari visibly recoiled. “Whispers,” Said the spirit, “Crawling, curling, settling in my head – twisting like my horns. This one is strong. Bottles on a wall, bottle in my hand. Should have used it long ago but –” Cole turned towards the female qunari then, the woman regarded him with cold, rigid superiority, “Tamassran won’t let me. He’s gone from us, we can’t bring him back. He is a tool, little more. Imekari, innocent, resting in my arms. Strong set of lungs, strong arms, strong legs. Strong mind. This one will fly or fall under the qun. There will be no middle ground.”

Varric grinned, it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “See, the reason Tiny’s still with us _at all_ and not worse than Tranquil is because _someone_ had a fit of sentimentality. Isn’t that right, Tama?”

The older qunari woman didn’t respond, the same cool regard still washing over her face.

Well, that was where the Chief got his poker face.

“Such small hands, grown big and strong and free. He never was a monster. Round hole, square peg.”

“See, they took Tiny, messed with his head a bit and then set him loose like a rabid mabari.”

Cold anger started building in Krem’s gut. He clenched his hand into a fist to stop himself from doing something stupid like punching the woman in the face.

“He couldn’t fight them all.” Cole finished.

Krem stepped forward, gesturing to Skinner as he did so.

It was time to get some answers.

\---

As it turned out, that was easier said than done.

None of the prisoners spoke a word to him, the dark haired elf and the male qunari stared stoically, while the tamassran regarded him with that same serene expression that had been on her face since the whole incident began. Gatt merely gave him the smallest of triumphant smirks, one which only left Krem feeling frustrated and more than ever like he wanted to punch something.

Preferrably Gatt.

Preferrably hard.

Even Cole’s initial cryptic helpfulness faded away to nothing, not even Varric was able to get more out of the spirit than he already had. It was to be expected, Varric explained – Cole dealt primarily with things that caused others pain, and there wasn’t much more to the situation that could really be classified as painful.

In the end, Cole had only muttered once more that the Chief hadn’t been able to fight everything, but this last was with a strangely imploring look, like there was something that he wanted Krem to understand in that sentence, that Krem was missing.

Whatever it was, though, it stayed hidden and cryptic. Sudden flashes of inspiration were the Chief’s forte, not Krem’s.

In a fit of desperation (and partly to get Krem to stop checking down the ravine every other minute) Varric took the spirit boy to the ravine’s edge to see if he could sense something from down below. After a long minute in which most members of the Chargers regarded the two hopefully, Cole whispered something to the dwarf, distress evident in his tone, and Varric clapped him on the shoulder, shooting him a sympathetic, resigned smile.

“Worth a try.” Varric said, pulling the boy away from the ravine’s edge, even as he shook his head at Krem.

Varric clapped the spirit boy on the shoulder in sympathy, then moved towards Krem, adjusting his gloves as he did so. “We’re not achieving anything here.” He said, “Someone needs to take the prisoners back to Skyhold, and someone needs to fill in the Spymaster about Tiny and Lilac.”

Krem nodded mechanically, Skinner made a noise of absolute disgust.

“We can get answers at Skyhold.” Varric reasoned with the dark-haired elf.

“And you would leave the _dalish_ princess to her death?”

_So that’s why she doesn’t like her._

Krem would have laughed at the inappropriate thought if he wasn’t so tense.

“I’m not saying I like it.” Varric said, bringing Krem’s attention back to the conversation at hand, “But we can’t sit in the forest forever.”

Krem felt himself nodding. Skinner glared, Krem put his hands up in supplication.

“You can’t be considering this?” She demanded, fingers flexing.

“We could split the group,” Varric told them, “The Chargers move on to Skyhold, the Kid and I hang around here for any sign of Tiny or Lilac.”

The plan had merit, and he was right – they couldn’t hang around in the clearing (as much as he wanted to) on the off chance that they survived the drop and could somehow get back up to them. They would be able to accomplish more as two small groups than they would as one big group. Krem didn’t have to like the plan for it to be sound.

Which was good, because he _really_ didn’t like the plan.

“And why should we trust you, Dwarf?” Skinner snarled, with bared teeth.

Krem held up his hand, she fell silent out of long habit.

Varric, for his part, merely grinned. “I don’t think you should trust anyone who tells a story as well as I do, Princess, but I think you should trust the four sitting behind us and pretending not to listen a whole lot less.”

Skinner turned her snarl on the qunari, then, all of whom were doing a very good job of not looking like they were paying attention. Krem sighed at Varric’s deflection tactic, well timed as it was.

There was sense behind Varric’s words, and sense in splitting the group. “You’ll send word?” Krem turned and regarded the dwarf with a sharp look. He was already nodding and waving his hand in a dismissive manner.

“As soon as I know, you’ll know.” Varric assured him.

Krem nodded once, sharply, and the decision was made.

\---

It would still be hours before any more movement occurred, however. They  unhitched the horses, checked their weapons and went to see if there was anything salvageable in or around the broken aravel. This led Skinner to discover a trail, and upon following it (with Grim, Rocky and Varric left behind to guard the prisoners) they discovered where the qunari had been holding their camp.

The sundries they found there were unanimously decided to be untrustworthy, so they took very little from the camp itself save for a cloth wrapped bundle that, upon opening, was found to contain the Chief’s dawnstone inlaid greatsword. Why it was hidden away at the camp instead of with the Chief when they found him, the qunari weren’t saying. Cole, too, had no cryptic clues to offer about the discovery. By the time they had re-wrapped the sword and returned to the others, midday had passed into early afternoon, and Krem was more than ready to begin the trek back to Skyhold.

Of course, this meant that one more problem presented itself, in the form of an anxious looking Rocky and a – well – a grim looking Grim.

“The Inquisitor’s mount is missing.” Rocky said without preamble as Krem stepped back into the clearing with the broken aravel.

Grim grunted, his face twisting into a scowl.

Krem stared at them both for a long moment before he folded his hands across his chest and gave a weary sigh. “When?” He asked, voice flat.

 “We didn’t notice until a bit ago,” Rocky gave a roll of his shoulders that could have been a shrug with a little bit more effort on his part, “Grim reckons he hasn’t seen the beast since before the skirmish.”

Grim grunted an affirmative at Krem’s questioning look.

“Tethras went for a quick scout.” Rocky added, “I’m starting to agree with him that we should get back to base as soon as we can. This whole mission’s making me think that the Stone has the worst sodding sense of humor I’ve ever encountered.” He cast a suspicious eye at the aravel. “Next thing, that’ll explode because it’s been laced with blackpowder, or something, knowing our current luck.”

“Still no sign of the Chief, then?”

Grim grunted and shook his head.

Krem ran a hand through his hair, before he straightened his spine and looked out over the Chargers. They were weary, all of them, but they couldn’t afford any more delays than they’d already had, particularly not with prisoners. “Alright.” He said, “We head back to Skyhold, beast or no beast. As much as I don’t want to be the one who says it, we can’t dawdle because one of the mounts is missing.”

“Creature like that only listens to one person, anyway.” Rocky agreed, “Even then, it’s with reluctance.”

Grim gave the dwarf a look, tilting his head slightly and jutting out his chin.

“Yeah,” Said Rocky, nodding at him, “The beast _has_ probably gone to find the Boss.”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet,” Dalish piped up from where she had taken over guard, “Hallas are clever beasties. That one more than most.”

“If that’s the case,” Krem said to them all, “Varric and Cole will find him when they find the Inquisitor.”

“When.” Skinner said, sceptical.

“When.” Krem repeated, more forcefully. “As for us, we’ve achieved everything that we can here. We set off for Skyhold as soon as we’ve finished prep.”

His tone brokered no argument and as soon as he finished speaking he sighed and moved away from the rest of the crew. He stepped one final time to the cliff face and glanced down it once more.

Nothing had changed.

He ran his hand through his hair again.

He couldn’t stall any longer, he thought, Varric was right. They had to go back to Skyhold, and the Chargers had to hope that everything else would work out for the best. The Chief had survived worse than this, and the Boss had walked away from having a mountain fall on her. Varric would find them, he would send word when he did. Everything would work out.

He just had to keep telling himself that loud enough to drown the feeling of disquiet that was getting steadily stronger in his gut.

That should be easy enough, right?


	11. Chapter 11

She came awake in increments.

At first, it was little more than an awareness on the edge of a yawning gap, something that tickled the corners of blissful nothing, the ever so slight hiss of disquiet whispering a susurrus at the back of her mind. Then it was a thought – just one – close on the heels of this.

She was starting to sound like Cole.

Probably not the best thing.

Next, she became aware of a familiar, uncomfortable pulse in her hand – the thrum of her mark. It gave the not-itch of an aborted execution, running and trickling up her arm, the off-green magic pulsing ever so slightly on the offbeat of her heart in a way that set her teeth on edge. She clenched her hand against it, and then opened the fist she made when it _hurt_ in the dull, throbbing way that said she’d held her bow at tension too long.

As she slowly drifted further awake, a litany of injuries and bruises called to her, clamouring in a way that it was impossible for her to ignore them. Her arm and leg were a song of hot, dull aches – not serious, but annoyingly constant. Her back, too, was protesting – it informed her that toppling down cliff sides was not the sort of activity it actively enjoyed.

With a sigh, (and a realisation that anthropomorphising her pain was probably not the act of a sound mind), Lavellan opened her eyes.

And snapped them closed again.

She choked back the groan that threatened to spill out of her. The light was obnoxiously bright, searing against her eyelids, and it caused a spike of pain to wedge itself between her temples as nausea crashed over her.

 _Oh, good_ work, _Da’len! A concussion! Spectacular!_

She brought the still-tingling mark up to her forehead, using her hands to shield her eyes when she opened them again.

The source of the bright light made itself known to her near immediately. Her dagger glittered at her from next to her head – it was buried to the hilt in the dirt scant inches from her, and the light was catching at an angle off the top blade and shining down on her. She glared at it a moment, before she grit her teeth against her rebellious stomach and slowly, gingerly, got to her hands and knees.

Her head swam, and the only thing that stopped her from collapsing again was the arm-jarring lock that she’d forced her arms into. She caught her breath, let it out in a shuddering sigh and caught her balance, before she straightened into a kneeling position and placed her hand around the dagger’s hilt, tugging it out of the ground and frowning at the earth stains on the blade that had been buried.

She wiped it on her pants, before she tightened her grip around it. She took a deep, shuddering breath, forced herself to get to her feet.

And then immediately staggered to the nearest tree, put her hand against it and vomited, violently.

_Oh, charming._

When her stomach had finished emptying itself, she leant back against the tree and took in a few gulps of air, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She pulled a small water flask from one of her pockets, rinsed her mouth and spat to the side, forcing herself back off the tree and taking a few shaky steps. When her leg throbbed in protest, but held, she stumbled back into the centre of the clearing and took stock of her situation.

All in all, she’d had worse. She was concussed, probably badly, but she could still move and she had a dagger, aches and pains in her body aside. She still had most of her tools on her belt loops, and she was conscious.

_Now all you need is a way out of this damn ravine and for your head to stop spinning, then everything will be just dandy!_

She ignored that and glanced around her.

The base of the cliff was a sparse mess of bracken, with broken branches and turned dirt littering over her surrounds. She looked as far upwards as her spinning head would allow, but the top of the ravine was obscured by the very same bushes that had broken her tumble down it. She turned away from the view with a scowl, then gave a slight, indrawn hiss as she spied her broken bow and quiver at the base of the cliff. They were stacked neatly, almost like they’d been –

Realisation slammed into her, and she recoiled violently, falling into a low, defensive crouch and scanning around her for –

For –

She bared her teeth instead of letting loose the rage-filled scream that was building inside her, the hand not holding her blade coming up to the ring of bruises that lined her throat. She turned slowly, warily, scanning around for _him_ , hand clenching her dagger all the tighter, head screaming in protest of her actions.

She saw him, at last, sitting at the base of a tree and regarding her silently with an eye as clear and green as the Waking Sea on a summer’s day. His legs were drawn up, his elbows resting on his knees, and he looked… calm, almost serene.

He must have been waiting for her attention, because when she glared at him, he let go of a sigh, scratched at his chin and said, “You’re probably angry.”

 She crossed the distance between them in moments, hand clenching convulsively on the hilt of her dagger. She pushed between his knees, brought the blade up to his neck and fought the urge to be sick all over again when her head spun.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

He regarded her coolly, then he tilted his head so the dagger rested more fully against his throat. “Is that how this is going to go down, Boss? Because I gotta say I never picked you as the vengeful type.”

“One reason, Bull.”

He bared his teeth at her in a razor sharp grin, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. One of his hands moved to the small of her back. “I’ll give you three.”

She ignored the gooseflesh that raced over her arms at his rumbled purr. “How generous,” She spat.

If her voice was at all breathless, she blamed it on the bruising wrapped around her throat, and not on the way his legs shifted so she could more comfortably sit between them.

His grin, if it was possible, sharpened further. She tightened her grip on the dagger, pressing down just enough that the slightest drop of blood beaded at the tip of it. His expression didn’t even shift.

“It’s what I am.” He strummed his fingers against her back, “As for reasons – well.” He narrowed his eye, “The first is that you have limited resources. You’ve got no food, no real weapons and no way back up that cliff. Like as not, you _need_ me.”

“And I’m supposed to trust that you won’t kill me?” She said, hand coming up to her throat again as she gave him a pointed look.

He laughed. “Boss, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. A few times over by now.”

She frowned, but the dagger she’d seen on awakening, the one she now held, which had been buried in such a way that someone had to be the one who moved it supported what he was saying. Her hand relaxed a fraction, but she didn’t take the blade away from his throat.

His smile softened ever so slightly before he forced his previous expression back into place. “Which brings me to reason number two – like it or not, Boss, you _can’t_ kill me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, he raised his eyebrow, fingers tightening on her back.

“Oh, you _could_ , ability wise, definitely. You shot me and had me reacting to you that whole damn fight. But archer as good as you, that range, I should be dead. Blade worker like you? I should be lame; you even whacked me in the back of the knee to prove it. Even if it’s in your best interest to kill me, you physically _can’t._ ” One of his hands dropped off her spine as his voice fell into a barely-there rumble that she had to lean in to catch, “Even now, if you could kill me, I’d be dead, not trying to talk you out of it.”

She let out a long shuddering breath and forced her eyes back open, wincing slightly because she hadn’t realised she’d shut them. His hand was warm and firm on her back, his voice pooling with a liquid heat in her belly, his smile a serpent that promised dangerous, wicked things.

 _Oh, for – now’s really_ not _the time!_

She scowled, stiffened and brought the blade back up to his throat once more, snarling in almost palpable fury.

“I shot you.” She hissed.

“You pulled your shot.” He told her. “You didn’t miss.”

His eye glinted, “Of course, there’s still one more reason,” He said, sly grin breaking slowly across his face like a wave, “And that’s actually just that I know something you don’t.”

She frowned, “Oh?” Her voice was husky, but she refused to be embarrassed, “What, by the Creators, would that be?”

Something hard and sharp pressed into her side, angled just so that it would slide between her ribs and up to her heart if he put pressure on it.

His voice dropped into a whisper, “I know where your other dagger is.”

\---

The Iron Bull had tells, though it had taken her some time to discover them.

There were some he knew about and worked to hide (It was only when he was very tired that the muscles at the back of his neck would bunch in a show of his annoyance, for example, or that he’d give in to rubbing at the stumps of his missing fingers), some that he actively exploited (was he truly unnerved, or just clenching a hand into a fist to throw her off the scent? Was he upset or just swearing for the Hell of it?) And there were some, just one or two, that she had thought he hadn’t known about.

Until today.

 _Ben Hassrath,_ she thought, bitterly, _Remember?_

He was presenting her with nothing, no outward clue as to what his inner thoughts might be, as he allowed her to back away from him and circle like a wary alley cat. He tracked her progress through a half-closed eye, twirling her blade through his fingers.

_Stalemate. Re-set the board, Cullen, we’ll go again._

Her head hurt.

The plaintive thought was enough to shake her from her resentment, to make her force her limbs to relax, to try and fight through will alone the nausea and pain that was threatening to swamp her. She was a stubborn creature – she was dalish, after all.

It all came down to one question, in the end. It was such a simple question and she had found that it was often her starting point in situations where no solution was readily apparent to her.

_What do I need to know?_

It was her first question, and probably the hardest for her to answer. It was easier by far to give into temptation and start listing what she knew instead – that she couldn’t give way to hysterics (much as she wanted to); that her bow was snapped and her remaining arrow thus rendered useless even as a flare; that she was unwell; and that night was quickly falling. But these things, she knew and listing them simply distracted her from what she _needed_ to find out, and the two were very different beasts.

_There are no prizes for how well you close your eyes. Believe, ask questions, know or not. When you’re wrong, you’re wrong._

Even when it hurts, as her keeper used to say, _especially_ when it hurts.

She was never one for the easy way out, so she deliberately started with the hardest point of contention.

“You betrayed me.” The words were surprisingly calm over the tumult of her emotions.

Bull’s shoulder rolled in his habitual shrug, “Not as much as you’d think.” His eye still remained half-closed, his hand still on the hilt of her other dagger.

She scowled, “And what does _that_ mean, then?”

His eye opened fully, “That’s not how this game works, Boss.”

Her scowl deepened, “I think I missed the point where you trying to kill me became a _game._ ”

She almost expected him to turn it into an innuendo. She would have been a whole lot more comfortable if he had.

He didn’t. “If I tell you outright what’s going on, you won’t believe me – it’s the way you work.” He tilted his head, “Not that I blame you; your trust took a hell of a beating.” He raised his remaining eyebrow, “So what I’ve gotta do is sit here and watch you put together the facts, maybe make some happy noises when you start to get it.”

“You tried to _kill_ me.”

(She was concussed and it was a bit of a sticking point for her, but she’d still look back on her plaintive tone and wince when her head cleared up.)

A lazy smirk crept over his face, “I did tell you not to do anything stupid. It’s not my fault you forced my hand, Boss.”

She blinked. She’d been talking about before that – when he’d held her by the throat and gone to toss her aside like a rag doll when she’d –

When she’d –

“ _Oh._ ”

“Now you’re getting it.”

When she’d nearly passed out, but still hadn’t quite _died._

“Of course, you damn near ruined it.” Bull said, smirk turning smug, “Twice.”

She’d struggled, _forced his hand_ , then had been bloody lucky to out-think him.

“You tried to pitch me over a ravine.” She argued.

“Had to.” He said, “What else was a loyal qunari going to do in the face of that? Either I had to let you fall, or Curly was going to throw a knife at your head. The guy’s a bastard, but he’s got good aim.”

_And you tried to warn me beforehand and I didn’t listen._

She frowned, refusing to let the hope that was starting to build win out. “So you’re on my side?”

The smile slipped from his face, “Boss, they did shit to me. I can’t say I’m on anyone’s side right now.” His hand, the one missing two fingers, clenched ever so slightly. Her eyes flicked to it, then to his face. He gave her a wry look and clenched his hand again the same way. "Sorry, Boss. I know about that one."

She frowned suddenly, _There it is again._

Boss, not Kadan. It hadn’t been Kadan since she’d seen him again. At first she’d thought it was simply because he’d switched sides, but –

_They were in his head, it's entirely possible, da'len, that they could have taken away his love for you._

Her head throbbed, and a pain like a lance shot straight through her heart. _Boss._

“What did they _take_ from you?”

He shrugged again. “If I knew, this’d be a Hell of a lot easier.” His hand came up absently to the arrow that was still stuck out of his shoulder. “Honestly, right now you’re the best path to getting back whatever the Hell it was, and so (lucky you) that means you’re who I work with.”

“And if that changes?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Boss.”

She sighed and stepped forward, lowering her dagger. “I understand.”

He nodded, then reached down from the arrow and tucked his hand into his pants, drawing out a small glass vial from one of the pockets she knew were sewn into the inside. He tossed it to her and she caught it on instinct, looking down at it.

The liquid inside was clear, but slightly pearlescent, motes catching the small amount of light that was filtering through the canopy from the setting sun.

“What _is_ this?”

“Qamek, keep it with you as insurance if you want.”

She nearly dropped the bottle then and there, and had to fight her sudden desire to hurl it as far away from her as she possibly could.

“A little bit of that and you’d be good for nothing but taking orders,” Bull said quietly, “Don’t get curious.”

He reached his hand up to the arrow again, and unthinkingly she stepped forward and battered it away.

He frowned at her, but let her into his space, watching as she tucked the qamek bottle into one of the pouches at her waist before she slowly unwound the sash that held her coat closed. In moments, the coat fell free and overlarge about her, but she ignored it, turning to look at the wound she’d given him.

The arrow protruded from his shoulder – the skin around it was puffy and angry red, and there were sharp cracks along the arrow shaft where it had snapped as her arrows were designed to do. She sucked in a breath, hand hovering over the wound. She was aware of him watching her, but put it in the realm of background distraction for the time being.

She reached up and gently ran her fingers over the wound. He grit his teeth and winced.

“This is going to hurt,” She warned him, before she put her hand on the arrow shaft and _pulled._

It came free as a splintered mess, with a sucking sound that was almost – but not quite – covered by Bull’s grunt of pain. The wound started leaking near immediately, a foul smelling mix of blood and pus that Bull slapped his hand over.

She sighed, pulled the hand away with a patient look and washed the wound with half the remaining water in her flask.

Next, she drew a potion out from another pocket and gave it to him. “Drink.”

He raised his eyebrow at her, she stared unblinkingly back.

“It’s probably not wise to get me back into fighting shape, Boss.”

“Drink the Creators-damned potion, Bull.”

He shrugged, winced, and did so. She pressed her hands down tightly on either side of the puncture, exposing the splintered pieces of metal and wood still in his shoulder. In a moment, her hands were slick with his blood and worse, but she ignored it, reaching in with her fingertips and plucking out what splinters that she could.

“Good thing you’re not queasy.”

She twisted one of the shards, just a little, as she pulled it out. He got the message. He fell silent and merely watched her work from that point on.

After a minute or so, the potion started to work and what little debris her fingers hadn’t been able to reach slid forward and out of the puncture. When she was satisfied that the wound was clean, she washed it again and pinched the edges together so that the potion could heal the injury into a fragile seam. She then took her sash and wound it tightly about his shoulder in a makeshift bandage, wincing at what Josephine would say to her if she ever saw it.

“Without magic,” She said when she was finished, “That will have to do.”

Bull flexed the muscle experimentally.

“Field surgery,” He said, “Gotta love it.”

Then he frowned at her, “You gonna do anything about that concussion, or are you just gonna continue to feel like shit for the near future?”

“The rest of my potion supply is with Varric.”

“That doesn’t seem like the smartest decision you’ve ever made, Boss, no offense.”

She scowled.

\---

After the impromptu surgery, Bull had directed her to a nearby stream where she could wash her hands and have some time to think. He had even promised not to watch.

For the briefest moment hope had flared in her chest at the throwaway line, but it died when he gave her a quizzical look when she didn’t given him the reaction he’d expected and proceeded to shoo her away with the hand not attached to his injured shoulder. Tired and sore, she’d moved away in silence, feeling his eye on her back until she was out of his sight.

She wearily trudged through the underbrush until she came upon the small, fast-flowing stream that he had told her about. It was bitterly cold when she put her hands into it, but it was a cathartic feeling and she relished in washing the water up her arms and getting off as much of the gunk as she possibly could, even if she refused to bathe fully.

After cleaning her arms and face, she frowned at the water for a long moment before coming to a decision. She sat on a rock on the stream’s edge and took off her boots, rolling her breeches up to the top of her calves and slipped her feet into the water.

Then she put her head into her hands and burst into tears.

There was nothing elegant, or beautiful, or even inquisitor-like about the way she cried – great heaving sobs racked her body, hiccups shuddered through her as she keened. Her nose became a dribbling mess in moments, her eyes grew hot and puffy, her head protested by throbbing worse than ever. She was tired. She was sick. She was hungry.

Her heart was breaking.

A breath of wind tugged at her hair, pulling it gently back from her face. The cool water lapped at her ankles, both seeming in their softness to whisper _Kadan, Kadan, Kadan_ in high, soft voices.

The qunari, by his admission, had been in his head, taken things from him. But surely, _surely_ , this was too important for them to be able to touch. How was it that he could look at her with such tenderness not on a month ago, but such cool practicality now?

How much of her was left in his heart? How much had they taken away from him?

And would he even believe her if she told him?

_That’s not how this works, Boss._

You couldn’t make someone be in love with you – but apparently the qunari had worked out how to take the emotion away.

She laughed – it was a bitter sounding thing. Of course they’d worked out how to take love out of people. Re-education at its finest and turned on the only person that she’d ever actually allowed herself to care for more than just a throwaway fling.

An old, cynical part of her sneered at the rest. What did she expect would come, it asked her, of falling in love with a qunari? What did she expect would come when Gatt had shown up on her doorstep and she’d allowed Bull to go off into the darkness by himself?

A curious fish nipped at her toe. She flinched her foot backwards, the action breaking her out of her reverie. The night had brought with it a chill that seeped into her, her cheeks were icy cold now where her tears had dried, and there was gooseflesh rising on her arms. Somewhere, a night bird called and another answered and she sighed and looked up into the darkening glade.

She scrubbed her face once more in the stream before she took a long pull of the sweet water. It was cold from spring melt and refreshing even as it made her shiver in the night air.

She slipped her shoes back on in the sole patch of moonlight that broke through the trees and then sighed, reaching into her top and pulling out a blood-spattered dragon tooth on a leather thong.

She held it up by the leather. It spun slowly, the moonlight catching on the obsidian that she’d capped it with.

She remembered being in the undercroft, late at night after her duties had finished, practicing on blocks of pig iron, making strips of silver into delicate filigree as Harritt had watched on with a hyper-critical eye. He’d told her that if she wanted that he could just make the damn thing – the tooth and its pair – and she’d known that even though he hadn’t really understood why she wanted them, he would have made them perfectly.

But she’d wanted to do it, even with the frustration of the unwieldly hot iron, the finicky silver, the difficult solder that splashed all over the other surfaces at the slightest _twitch_ –

But she’d worked and finally Harritt had said she was ready to make the real thing.

Oh, it wasn’t perfect. Even now, under the bloodstains she could see a scorch mark where her hand had slipped, and the filigree was a little crude, and her half of the pair had a hairline crack where the fine saw had hit a snarl in the tooth when she was cutting it in half – but the thing was hers, made with her hands, with her soul and her heart sealed in the imperfections.

 _Kadan_ , whispered the wind as it ghosted around the bruising on her neck, _Kadan._

She braced herself against the pain and wrenched the necklace downwards, feeling the leather strap snap. She drew her arm back and went to throw the necklace as far from her as she could.

She aborted the action before she let go, sighing and drawing the tooth to her chest. She brought her knees up and pressed her forehead to them, clenching her hands around the tooth and trying to still the emotions roaring through her head.

_They took away his tooth. They took away his weapon. They took away the things that would tie him to me._

And still he fought them.

_Yeah, well, he couldn’t fight everything._

She breathed in as deep as she could and let out a shaky breath. It carried away the last of her remorse, her anger, her despair.

If he could fight them, so could she.

She stood up carefully, the nausea better than it was but still very much there, and wrapped her coat around herself to defend against the night chill. She tied the strap of the tooth around her neck once more, tucking it back under her clothes and feeling it settle between her breasts.

 _Kadan_ , whispered the wind, one last time before it died away.

By the time she got back to where Bull was building a fire, the only evidence that showed she had been crying was the slight redness to her eyes. Bull’s night-vision was worse than hers, and if he noticed it, he didn’t say it, even as she slipped a little closer to the fire than was strictly wise.

They sat in silence for a long moment, before she finally sighed, looked over at him and said, “I’m really hoping that you have a plan.”

He grinned wolfishly at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, my Kal muse has gone into her corner with a bottle of wine and is blasting No Doubt's "Don't Speak" on repeat.
> 
> Also - my Bull is a really fucking unreliable narrator. Just throwing it out there.


	12. Chapter 12

“So what you’ve got to ask yourself,” Bull said as he stroked the small campfire, “Is what do five seemingly different qunari all have in common?”

The Inquisitor looked up at him, her face still set into the delicately blank mask she’d had on ever since she came back from the river. It wasn’t a perfect mask, Bull thought as he looked up at her, there was a pinched tightness about her eyes that belied that her head was still hurting her, and her pupils were still slightly too wide for even the limited light of the fire. She’d decided to ignore the concussion, however, so Bull followed her lead.

He also decided not to prod at whatever it was she was keeping tucked away from him – he’d work it out sooner or later, and it wasn’t like she didn’t have a good reason to keep secrets from him.

She had her legs folded in front of her and her hands were in her lap. He looked over at her when she didn’t respond to him straight away and she gave him a half-shrug. “I don’t know,” She said at last, tone facetious, “What do five qunari have in common?”

“Incredibly different qunari, Boss,” Bull stressed, because that part was important, “Two Ben Hassrath fresh from Seheron, a Sarebaas who refuses to be restrained, Gatt, and a Tamassran whose favourite imekari all seem to go Tal Vashoth.”

He raised his eyebrow and settled back on his hands. Then he winced, straightened and resisted the urge to rub at his still tender shoulder. “What do those five people have in common?”

She frowned and tugged on the end of the braid that trailed behind her ear. “They all know you?”

“That’s a shitty guess and you know it,”

She glared at him.

He propped his bad ankle out in front of him so it would get warmed by the fire. “Also,” He continued, “It’s a _wrong_ guess. Only ones I knew before this mess all started were Gatt and Tama, but they’re the ones that got me thinking about it.”

She sighed wearily at him and gave him a patient look.

He rested his weight back on his good arm and mirrored the look right back at her.

“Just tell me, Bull.”

“They’re close to being declared Tal Vashoth.”

She blinked.

He raised his eyebrow and flashed her a grin that was all teeth.

Something like curiosity slipped into her eyes for the briefest of moments, and he knew he had her interest, as much as she was trying to fight it.

He dangled the bait, “All of them.”

Her eyebrows drew together into a frown and a subtle tenseness entered her body. Her shoulders straightened a fraction, her mouth tugged into a tiny frown, “How can you possibly know that?”

“I’m really good at my job,” He drawled.

She scowled at the quip, a strange, unsettled twinge shooting across her face before she slammed her will down on the expression hard. Her fingertips brushed over her chest for a moment before her hand re-joined the other in her lap.

_Interesting._

The Ben Hassrath in him wanted to chase that little secret down, whatever it was, to get it out of her by any means necessary, but another part of him warned against it, told him to back off for now unless he end up doing something he regretted.  And Bull hadn’t survived 10 years of Seheron by ignoring his gut.

He brought his knee up, still sprawled as he was over the ground, and absently threw a small twig into the fire before he continued the conversation, “There’s five qunari,” He told her, “Well, four now after you finished off Sunshine. Two of ‘em are viddathari – Gatt, who has the emotional stability of raw lyrium and Vida, an unrestrained Sarebaas.”

“Isn’t that a contradiction of terms?” The Boss asked, becoming interested despite herself, “I thought _all_ Sarebaas had to be restrained under the Qun.”

Bull tilted his head in agreement, “Sometimes, it’s possible that a sarebaas will be unrestrained, but _never_ in Par Vollen and only in the Ben Hassrath,” He told her. “It’s damn shady, and it’s _always_ a viddathari.”

“Because no qunari-born person would allow themselves to be both mage and unrestricted.”

Bull nodded once more.

The Boss, Bull had found, was someone that he enjoyed explaining things to, mostly because she had a quick mind and a strong sense of intuition-based logic, but also because she made a point to remember what people told her. It made explaining things easy when he didn’t have to tell her the same facts more than once, let him build on what she already knew, point her in the direction of the conclusion he wanted her to make, rather than give it to her and hope she believed him.

“Yeah, Qunadar is kind of the opposite of the Circles that way. Worst thing imaginable for a Qun-raised mage is to _not_ have someone controlling them.”

Order. Knowing where you belonged. The allure of the qun.

“So an unrestrained Sarebaas – ”

“Is an oxymoron.” Bull finished, “Close to becoming Tal Vashoth if he isn’t already.”

Her lips pulled into a thoughtful frown.

The firelight flickered over her face as she gathered her thoughts – it put honey highlights into her hair and pulled out the brown motes in her hazel eyes. It made her skin glow, her freckles turning into dark constellations over the skin that he could see. Something swelled in his chest and then faded as quickly as it came when she shifted and the firelight cast new shadows across her face.

She reached up a hand and tucked her hair behind one pointed ear, “So there’s a Sarebaas who isn’t controlled, and there’s _Gatt_ , but that’s just the elves.” She pointed out, “The qunari make less sense – why would they be out here and close to Tal Vashoth? Why wouldn’t they have submitted themselves for re-education?”

He sighed, scratched at his chin with his injured arm, “They probably did,” He replied, “They got sent out here, fresh from Seheron. Out of that shithole and back into the real world without quite knowing how to deal with what that means.” He grunted, feeling almost sympathetic towards them for a moment – it was a shit place to be in, he knew.

He’d been there.

The Boss reached out a hand absently and rested it over his for a moment before she caught herself and pulled away.

Bull closed his eye and drew in a slow breath, releasing it just as carefully. He opened his eye and looked into the fire, trying to steady the emotions that always rolled through him when he thought of Seheron.

“Then there’s a Tamassran,” He continued, when he knew he could speak without his voice going brittle, “But not just any Tamassran, no. A Tamassran whose most promising imekari all seem to end up going Tal Vashoth.”

And that was it, all the pieces lined up, just waiting for her to put them together. It wouldn’t take her long, sharp mind like hers.

“ _Deniability,_ ” She breathed.

It didn’t take her long at all.

“Exactly. The qunari want this operation to go ahead, but they also want to be able to wipe their hands of it when it’s done.” It wasn’t just _him_ that they wanted gone, no matter what Tama thought. This was a convenient excuse to get rid of all of them. You don’t hide something with a paper trail like this by blaming it on just one Tal Vashoth.

You blame it on a rogue team of them.

“But if that’s the case, why tell you that they want you back?”

Bull laughed, it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Bait,” He said, “C’mon, Boss. We’ve been over this before. Get me interested, get me sniffing about.”

Her eyes alighted with realisation, “Link whatever plan they had to a known Tal Vashoth and – ”

“Get a two-for-one. ‘Oh no, _Orlais_ , we’re not responsible for what happened to the Inquisitor, it was a splinter group. Not us. You’re just suddenly very conveniently back at war with all of the mages in the South. Good luck with that.”

“See, Qunadar, this is what happens when qunari go rogue, and when people don’t have the Qun to guide them – they descend into chaos. The Qun is the only way forward.”

“Exactly.”

At some point, he’d straightened out of his slouch and leaned forward into her space. She noticed this now with a jerk, and slid away from him again.

He resisted the urge to sigh, even as the mask that had been starting to slip from her features crashed back over her like a wave. It was almost with sadness that Bull watched it happen. He _liked_ talking things through with the Boss, had done so since he first met her. She was quick, both in her mind and to annoyance, though it was difficult to _really_ piss her off, and she had a serious streak that he respected, even as he tried to tease it out of her. It made for a heady combination – he didn’t have to slow down as much for her as he would for someone else, but he could also bait her, tease her along, use her stubborn determination to push her that little bit harder, that little bit faster than someone else.

He sat up and threw another twig onto the fire, watching it burn away within seconds.

“So that’s their plan,” The Boss said, her earlier reluctance completely forgotten, “What’s yours?”

He grunted. “Mostly still working on it,” He admitted, “At first it was just ‘play along and wait for someone to slip up.”

“That didn’t work out quite as you expected it to.”

He looked over at her sharply, she was looking away from him, the slightest trace of amusement turning up the edges of her lips.

He grunted deep in his chest. “It would have worked just _fine_ if someone hadn’t pulled me down a cliff with them.” He grumbled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her tone was perfectly bland, but her smile grew the tiniest fraction.

“Sure you don’t, and your mark’s just itching because it disagrees with the wildflowers.”

“Embrium is terrible at this time of year.”  She was outright grinning now, and she looked over at him, head tilted to one side, eyes suddenly sparkling.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” He shrugged, “But you pulling me down the cliff with you means that the plan changed. A Hell of a lot.”

“Oh?”

He ran a hand down his face and looked into the fire. “I gotta send you in if I want to find out what they took from me,” He said, “And you’ve gotta go in alone – if I’m there, Tama’ll just find some way to twist me into helping her.”

The smile fell away from the Inquisitor’s face. “Bull – ”

“I never said it was a _good_ plan,” He told her, “But I’m _compromised_ , Boss. You know it. You can’t trust me right now – Hell, I can’t trust me right now. This is the best shot we’ve got and you’re probably a good enough liar to pull it off.”

“Wait, what am I lying about?”

Bull stared her down. “You’re gonna tell Tama that I’m dead.”

* * *

To Bull’s surprise, the Inquisitor didn’t get angry. She didn’t yell, she didn’t swear blue murder at him. She merely regarded him calmly and listened as he outlined his plan, nodding once when he finished.

“I’ll take first watch.” She said, standing and moving out of the firelight.

_Well, it’s not a ‘no.’_

He sighed as he looked into the darkness where he could hear her settling herself in for the watch.

Her behaviour had been… odd.

Bull was used to a certain sort of easy companionship with the Inquisitor, one that was free of tense silences and sharp words, once which was born of a sort of shared camaraderie of being the only two people in the whole damn Inquisition that didn’t believe she was sent by a god she didn’t believe in to fight a holy war against a madman. Oh, she’d tested him at first, and they’d been damn good tests too – some of them he almost hadn’t noticed – but once she realised that his position under the Qun wasn’t going to change the way that he treated her as a person, they’d settled into an easy friendship that had been something of a lifeline for them both.

She’d become someone Bull could trust, who he could talk things out with, who would turn to him for advice and assistance when required. She refused to view him as just another sword arm, rebuffed his attempts to present as such. He, in turn, had made himself something of a support pillar for her, someone who she could go to when she’d had enough of the people calling her “Herald” and trying to convert her.  When she didn’t want to feel _pandered_ to, instead, made her feel like there was someone who wouldn’t look at her with some varying combination of terror and contempt.

And that easy relationship, her dry, terrible wit, her reluctant smiles at his equally bad puns, the way she let herself be annoyed by his baiting but never seemed to get truly angry with him - Well. It wasn’t gone, but she was fighting it every step of the way. Holding herself back from him as much as she was able, even though she’d never done anything of the sort before.

He didn’t blame her.

He rubbed at his wrists as he looked at the place where he knew she was sitting, even if he couldn’t see her. He didn’t blame her because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if Tama ordered him to kill her. He didn’t blame her because he knew that there was a reason for the easy touches she’d given him in the aravel, even if he couldn’t say exactly what it was, or why they’d stopped. Or why the fact that they’d stopped _hurt_ so damn much.

Tama did always know how to pick her weapons well.

It had been difficult to resist re-education while trying to convince Tama that it was working. He knew that he’d given up parts of himself, laid himself bare for her, but only particular parts. He knew that she would have chosen something to chase and take from him, and that he would have given it up to save other pieces. Give her the obvious, give her the _big_ thing, and the little important things could lie. (Heh. Lie.)

The question, though, was what did Tama think was important enough to take from him? What did she think she could use of _his_ against the Inquisitor? What would he have let her take once he knew she wanted it? What did he think was so important that he knew even if it was gone he’d still fight to get it back?

There was a reason that no-one had used qamek on him, even if Curly had been stupid enough to leave a bottle in the aravel and then _forget that he’d damn well done it._ It’d been almost too simple to use the other bottle they’d given him to plant the seed of doubt that the qamek hadn’t been placed at all, that Curly had given him the brown bottle and not the little clear one that was currently sitting in one of the Inquisitor’s many pouches.

It’d been damn hard work and it had mostly worked up to the point where only two questions remained to Bull - what would the Boss do with the weapon that he’d given her? And what was it behind the fact that Tama thought he was a sharper blade like _this –_ pieces missing but still relatively whole – in the Inquisitor’s side than he would have been as a mindless drone good for nothing but taking orders?

He supposed it all came down to whatever pieces were missing.

_So what is it, Bull? What was so important to you that you knew you’d fight to get it back even if you’d forgotten what it was?_

“You’re staring at me.”

_It’s a good view._

Bull swallowed the response even as it came to him, settled his face into an easy smile and said into the darkness, “No, I’m staring at the dark patch of forest where I know you’re sitting.”

She was silent for a moment, before there was the slight rustle of movement and she slid over into the edge of the light. “I always forget how terrible qunari night vision is.”

 “I’m just trying to work some shit out.”

She tilted her chin in invitation.

“I’m trying to figure out how Tama knew, without a doubt, that you’d come after me.”

She suddenly stiffened.

He rubbed at his wrists again as she remained silent, and he’d almost given up on getting an answer from her when she let go of on explosive sigh and turned back to looking out into the dark.

When she spoke, it was quiet enough that Bull was near certain he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“I would always come after you.”

He waited a beat for her to expand on that – she didn’t.

He was about to say something else when she straightened, going from a sitting position into a low crouch, hand coming up to the hilt of her blade.

Bull mirrored her. “What – ”

She flapped an impatient hand behind her as she turned towards the underbrush. Her other hand clenched around the hilt of her dagger.

Bull frowned and shifted to get his feet under him, scanning the dark forest just beyond the firelight and seeing nothing. Everything beyond the limited light was inky blackness and he grumbled under his breath, even as he strained to get any sign of what had caused the Inquisitor to tense the way she had.

A faint crash and rustle through the underbrush came to him, like something large headed their way. He straightened, tensed, prepared for attack –

“Bull, _move!_ ”

He threw himself to the side as something crashed through the trees ahead of him with a bellow.  He had time to catch a glimpse of white, to get the impression of something large, then the Boss was there in front of him, hands spread to either side of herself.

He swore loudly and reached out to drag her back, but she stepped out of range of his hands, moving towards the flailing beast ahead of her. It reared, hooves and horns flashing as it trumpeted once again.

“ _Kai!_ ” She demanded, sharp and sudden.

_Wait, what?_

Bull pulled himself to his feet and backed away from the halla. The Inquisitor was standing in front of him, tiny and fierce and somehow holding the beast back through sheer force of will.

The halla snorted and rolled honey eyes as it pranced in place. It lowered its’ horns and then raised them again, making disgruntled noises that the Boss was appearing to ignore.

“Ama Lath,” She said, her voice all authority, “Stop.”

The halla continued to shift and pace, making aborted attempts to rear again. The Inquisitor merely stared the beast down, taking first one step towards it, and then another. Once she could, she reached out and laid a hand between its’ eyes, rubbing softly. “Stop.” She said again.

The creature gave one last snort and calmed, pressing into her hand.

Bull decided to say nothing.

The Boss stepped forward and rested her face against the halla’s head, gently stroking her fingers over the beast’s face. “Oh, you good sweet thing,” She said to it in an undertone, “You found us.”

She dropped her voice too low for Bull to hear more than what sounded like a faint dalish lilt to her words and continued to coddle the beast into some semblance of calmness. After what seemed like an age, Bull took a cautious step forward.

The beast tensed immediately. It’s eyes fixed on him and it stamped a hoof in warning.

“Don’t be foolish, Kai, he won’t hurt us.”

The halla seemed to disagree with the statement, back leg coming up off the ground in a gesture that Bull knew meant a swift kick for a person who got too close to it.

But then the Inquisitor was leaning up and whispering something in the halla’s ear and though it snorted in what was almost, _almost_ , derision, it calmed. With a last, measuring and far too intelligent look in Bull’s direction, the halla stepped away from the Inquisitor to nose at the grass in their small clearing.

This let Bull see what was on the beast’s back.

It had saddlebags tied to it, and it was to these that the Inquisitor now moved, still whispering soothing half-elvhen reassurances to the beast as she went.

“Great.” Bull said, “It wants to kill me, but that’s okay because it’s brought _supplies._ ”

The Boss ignored him, choosing instead to rummage through what the creature had brought with it. Bull sighed and stepped towards her, ducking the annoyed bite that the halla shot at him with lightning speed.

Without missing a beat, the Inquisitor’s hand shot up and twisted the halla’s ear once. It snorted and turned it’s face away from Bull.

The Boss extracted a cloth-wrapped bundle from somewhere in one of the bags and tossed it to Bull. He unwrapped the package and raised his eyebrow at the field rations inside it. “Not sure I should be pleased he brought us food or pissed that he wants to kill me.” He said.

“Do you blame him?” The Boss had pulled out some food for herself and was moving back to the fire. Bull followed, keeping a wary eye on the beast. “The last time he saw us, you were trying to kill me.”

Bull frowned at the logic in that. “And you’re sounding far too cheerful about this.”

She actually smiled at him. “And you’re not happy?”

“We have some supplies now, yes, but he’s actively trying to maim me and can’t be double-ridden. So no, I’m not happy about this turn of events.”

She laughed, “Bull, for an incredibly intelligent man, sometimes you can be painfully obtuse.”

“Tell me what I’m missing here, Boss.” He growled.

“We fell down a cliff.” The Boss said, enunciating each word like she was talking to a particularly slow child.

“No shit.”

“Kai _didn’t_ fall down a cliff.”

Bull paused.

He looked at the halla who was now steadfastly ignoring both of them. He looked back to the Boss.

She gave him a sly grin, “How did he get down to us?”

He felt himself matching the expression. “He found a way down the cliffside.”

“And if he found a way down – ”

“-Then we have a way back up.” Bull finished.

* * *

In order to not break something in the dark, they agreed to wait until dawn to attempt to get back to the others. Bull slept in fits and starts, and had a feeling that the Boss slept no better, and when the dawn broke crisp and cold it was with weary body and tired eye that they greeted it.

Between them, they shared another of the Inquisitor’s ration packs, before the Inquisitor took her dagger and cut loose one of the saddlebags from Kai’s back. She then proceeded to fray and hack at the end of the rope until it feasibly looked like it could have been snapped and tossed the bag of food in Bull’s direction. He caught it and tied it to his belt, grinning slightly at the small deception. It’d look strange, after all, if the Inquisitor joined back up with Krem and the others with a missing saddlebag, but if it had _snapped off_ , then no-one would question its’ absence and Bull would still have food.

Packing up what little else they had took no time at all. The Boss strapped the broken pieces of her bow and quiver across Kai’s back and swung up onto him, rubbing her hand along his neck in small, soothing motions. The halla stomped his foot once as Bull came to stand next to him, but made no move to bite or kick.

Small mercies.

The Boss turned towards Bull with a small, guarded smile before she slapped the halla on his flank. “Take us home, Kai.” She said.

The halla’s ears perked up and it started to walk. Bull fell into step next to it and they started their progression across the ravine floor.

They moved in silence for the better part of the morning, picking their way along the river bed for the most part, the bubbling of the frigid waters almost a soothing counterpoint to the songs of mountain larks above them.  Most of the trees were showing signs of thawing out from the stubborn winter, branches ended in tiny leaf buds and grass was springing up around them. It would have been pretty, if Bull hadn’t been so aware of the fact that they were trusting a beast of burden to find them a way back up to the people they’d left behind.

Eventually, they came to a part of the cliff which had what looked like a slight goat’s path leading up the side. The halla stopped, pawed the ground and tossed his head.

“I think this is where Kai came down.” The Inquisitor said, looking up the path with a small frown.

Bull considered the slope. “It’s narrow,” He said, “Unstable. Risky.”

“I haven’t seen any other ways up or down as we’ve walked, though, have you?”

“I could throw you up and find another way.”

“You don’t have depth perception.” There was an unexpected twinge of thoughtfulness in her voice that made Bull look at her sharply.

“You’ve considered it before.” He told himself he didn’t sound surprised.

She scoffed, “Not for very long.”

“But you did.”

“And I decided it was a ridiculous idea.”

Bull smirked, “Admit it. You want me to throw you at some point.”

“I am not discussing this!” The Boss snapped, as she dismounted the halla and moved towards the goat track. He followed, grinning.

They were halfway up the cliffside when he started talking again, “It’s an option on the table, though, if it needs to be?”

“ _No depth perception_ , Bull! If I’m going to be thrown, it’s going to be by someone who can aim.”

“But you _would_ do it?”

She was laughing now, it ruined the faux irritation. “Possibly. _If_ you can find someone strong enough to throw me - someone who has two eyes and good aim, then _maybe._ ”

“I’ll ask Krem when this is all over.”

“I said maybe!”

“Maybe isn’t _no_ , Ka–”

Kai trumpeted a warning as the Boss slipped on a rock and pitched sideways. Bull snapped out his hand and grabbed her, fingers coming to lock about her wrist, hauling her backwards. She staggered into him, getting her feet back under her, breathing fast against his chest. She looked up at him, eyes wide as he tried to still the sudden, frantic beating of his heart.

“Shit, you okay?”

She stepped back from him and he let go of her wrist. She frowned at the drop, and then at him.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking while we’re doing this.”

Bull rubbed at his wrist, “Sure, Boss.”

They made the rest of the climb in silence, picking up the steadier rocks and tree roots, making sure to test their footing before they placed their feet down. Kai moved up the track with ease, snorting with annoyance whenever he left them too far behind and had to wait for them to catch up, looking over his shoulder with a look Bull would have called derision had it been on a person. Eventually, with a final push forward, the Boss pulled herself up and over the top of the cliff, holding her hand out to Bull. He gripped it with his uninjured side and let her help pull him up, both of them moving away from the cliff’s edge the moment they were back on solid ground.

“So let’s not do that again any time soon.” Bull said, after he’d caught his breath. He walked back to the cliff edge and looked down the cliff they’d scaled. It was steep, and foliage obscured the bottom of the ravine, “Mostly because I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t survive it _twice._ ”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The Boss said in a dry voice.

Bull grinned at her tone before he smoothed the expression off his face and looked back over his shoulder at her. “We should probably split up here,” He said, “If you’re heading to Krem and the others, having me with you would disrupt the whole ‘I’m dead’ story.”

The Inquisitor opened her mouth, her eyebrows pressed down and she closed it again. She was quiet for a long moment, before she looked away from him into the trees. “Be safe,” She told him, with a faraway look in her eye.

“Always.”

“Liar.”

He grinned, as Kai wandered over to her and nosed her in the side. She absently reached up a hand and stroked his flank, before she shook herself and stepped around him, pushing herself up onto his back.

She cast one glance back at Bull before she slapped the halla’s flank.

Kai trumpeted with joy and leapt forward, pushing through the undergrowth with ease.

And Bull was suddenly alone once more.

He sighed, looking at the place she’d disappeared into before he ran a hand down his face and hoisted the saddlebag she’d given him over his shoulder, before starting his own walk through the undergrowth. The sun caught on her dagger, the one he still had tucked into his waistband.

The one that Tama would notice was missing.

“Sorry, Boss.” He said, as he started to walk, “I gotta fix my mistakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out. I've had a really hectic time these past few months - I was picking up extra shifts at work, bringing my working week hours up to 50. In addition to this, I was rehearsing and prepping for some work I was doing with a stunt group and a cinema to do promotion work for the new Star Wars movie and was making costumes for that at the same time.
> 
> What little time I had left made me too tired to brain, so it went into things other than writing. Everything has slowed down now after Christmas, so I should have more time to write in the new year.


	13. Chapter 13

Krem looked back over his shoulder once more, only realising what he was doing when Skinner made a vague noise of disgust at him. He flinched and fixed his gaze back towards the company in front of him.

Rocky was far more sympathetic, “They’ll be okay,” The dwarf said, dropping back in their line so that he could talk to Krem more easily, “The Chief’s so solid I’m more worried about the ground after a fall like that and the Boss is so light she probably got blown back up the cliff by a slight breeze.”

Krem chuckled, but the sound trailed off quickly.

“Even if she didn’t get blown back up the cliff, I’m pretty sure she floats,” Rocky tried again.

“Hope not,” Skinner, when Krem glared at her, was scowling slightly.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Dalish stepped up beside her, “The Boss is actually lovely when you speak to her – a little flustered at times but her heart’s in the right place.”

“Outside of her chest?”

Dalish swatted the other elf on the arm.

“What’s your problem with her, anyway?” Rocky asked, shoulders raised in a careless shrug.

“She lies too easily and too well.”

“So does the Chief,” Stitches said from where he stood guard near the prisoners. Grim grunted a confirmation.

Dalish’s face pulled into a pout, “But the Chief lies to protect us,” She said, “I agree with Skinner that I’m not too sure about the Boss. She’s always been lovely, but she was a dalish spy and we train them well.”

“As well as qunari?” Stitches asked, with a pointed look in their prisoner’s direction.

Krem followed the look and saw something that displeased him greatly. While the qunari looked completely disinterested with the path the conversation was taking, Gatt’s eyes were bright and intent, though his head was tilted forward in an attempt to hide it. The other elf, too, was feigning bored disinterest, but his eyes were flicking between the Chargers as each spoke, and his shoulders were slowly beginning to tense.

“Oi,” Krem called, “Hush up.”

Gatt’s mouth twisted into a smirk, and the other elf seemed to realise what he was doing, expression smoothing and body relaxing quickly. Krem glared at the both of them.

“We’ve got a _captive_ audience.” He said.

“That was bad and you should feel bad,” Rocky told him, but the Chargers fell silent once more.

Skinner looked over at the prisoners, something thoughtful curling the lines of her mouth. The expression, briefly, was mirrored on Gatt’s face, though he smoothed his features quickly while Skinner’s look lingered. Krem frowned at her.

The party continued on in silence for a while longer, passing back into territory that was on the outskirts of what Krem considered Inquisition land. They were still a good two days or so away from the keep, but were within enough distance that Krem felt a subtle tenseness leaving his shoulders. The feeling of coming home wasn’t to last, however, as it was Dalish who broke the silence next.

“Do you think they’re alright, though?” She asked timidly, “The Chief and the Boss? Varric seemed certain that they would be, but –”

“They’re fine,” Stitches said.

“It’s just… it was a rather large cliff.”

“They’re _fine,_ Dalish.”

“And we really should have seen them by now, or Varric should have sent us word.”

Grim grunted.

Rocky nodded in agreement, “He’s right,” He said, “The Boss and the Chief are both made of strong stuff. They’re probably waiting for us back at the hold.”

“Glad to know you have such faith in me.”

If the Chargers weren’t such a well-trained band, they would have jumped. As it was, they turned as one, weapons being drawn and aimed in the direction of the feminine voice that had sounded behind them. Then, weapons slowly lowered as they took in the sight of the Inquisitor dropping her miasma cloak, sitting astride her halla and looking positively exhausted. There were deep shadows under her eyes and what they could see of her skin was littered with dark bruises. Her eyes, however, were sparks of wicked amusement, and a smirk slashed across her face as Kai tossed his head in dismissal of the combined threat in front of him.

At her urging, the halla moved silently towards them, unshod hooves creating none of the noises that a horse might make as it approached.

It was Dalish who broke the silence, “Told you they were smart beasties!”

Krem sheathed his war hammer and stepped forward as the Inquisitor slipped off her halla’s back. She stumbled as she landed and unthinkingly Krem reached out to catch her, noting that the small body in his arms was trembling. He helped her right herself and then stepped back, trying to get his voice to work and failing miserably in the face of his shock. She was favouring her right leg in a subtle lean and her head was tilted ever so slightly backwards like she was having difficulty holding it up.

Krem stared at her.

“Aclassi,” She said, stepping towards her halla and putting one hand on his flank for support, “Report.”

Krem reached out, grabbed her, and crushed her to his chest in a hug.

The Inquisitor went stiff in his arms for a moment, then she relaxed, her own arms coming up to return the hug, though she was significantly more gentle with her affections than Krem had been.

“You’re alive,” Krem said to her quietly, relief to a tension he hadn’t allowed himself to feel crashing over him like a wave. He let her go slowly, taking a single step back.

“Well, yes, but I know that. I need you to report on the things that happened while I was away.”

Quickly, Krem filled her in on all that had happened since she and the Chief had fallen down the cliff. When he had finished, she was frowning slightly but turned towards their prisoners regardless. She went to take a step towards them, but both she and Krem stopped at the sound of Rocky’s uncertain voice.

“Wait,” He said, looking around, “Where’s the Chief?”

The Inquisitor froze. Krem looked towards her just in time to see the shattered expression that fled from her face with a blink, watched her straighten her shoulders and seem to pull herself back together.

Unbidden, his heart leapt to his throat.

“Your Worship?”

Her breathing suddenly turned shaky. “Can you please have the Chargers find a suitable place to camp so that I can speak to Tamassran?”

The uneasy feeling within him growing, Krem made an aborted attempt to reach out to the Inquisitor. She took a small half-step backwards.

“Please?” Her smile was strange and stiff when it came.

Feeling himself frown, Krem gave the order. With reluctance that bordered on insolence, the Chargers began to move – all except for Skinner, who stepped forward, sneer twisting her features, and planted herself in the Inquisitor’s way.

“Man asked you a question,” She spat.

“Skinner, stand down.”

Skinner ignored Krem, stepping into the Inquisitor’s space. She was a head taller than the other elf, though the Inquisitor didn’t seem at all intimidated.

“We’re still waiting for the answer.”

The Inquisitor regarded the other elf like someone would a disobedient child. She tilted her head and looked at the other woman through her eyelashes, hands loose by her side, back straight. “You were told to stand down,” She said, in a voice gone dangerously quiet, “I suggest you do so before your behaviour reflects badly on the Chargers and their relationship with the Inquisition.”

“Where. Is. The. Chief.” Skinner’s hand went to the dagger at her side.

It looked about to come to blows, Krem’s call for order thoroughly ignored by the two elves as the temperature between them dropped to something almost glacial.

“He is dead.”

The tension in the clearing snapped like a fired bow. It took a moment to work out who the strange voice belonged to – the Inquisitor hadn’t spoken the words and the voice was much deeper, much richer than her own. After a beat, Krem looked behind him to where the female qunari had raised her chin, sorrow in her eye, chains clanking as she moved her hands to straighten carefully the cloak that fell about her. There was a frown hovering about the edges of her eyes as she regarded the Inquisitor, “Is he not?”

Krem looked back towards the Boss.

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of her. Her shoulders slumped, she became a small, diminished thing, arms wrapping about herself defensively.

Krem’s heart crashed from his throat to the ground. “No,” He heard himself say, “Your Worship –”

The Inquisitor didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry,” She said to her shoes, “Krem, I’m so sorry.”

A wave of numb disbelief crashed over him.

Skinner snarled, grabbed the Inquisitor by the collar and hefted her up off her feet, “What did you _do?_ ” She demanded, voice cracking wildly.

For her part, the Inquisitor let herself be manhandled, “He tried to kill me, Skinner, what would you have done in my place?”

“You _killed_ him!” This, from Rocky, whose face was suddenly streaming with tears., “Your damn Inquisition did, even if you were defending yourself!” The dwarf turned away, hands clenched at his sides, “We never should have joined.”

Dalish made a strangled sound and fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands.

A cloud had settled over Krem’s mind, something that he was finding it difficult to think through, to focus past. He knew he had to stop them, had to step in to save the Inquisitor, who wasn’t saving herself, even as Stitches went to comfort Dalish and Grim snarled voicelessly at them all.

“Stand down,” He finally managed in a whisper, then louder, “Stand down!”

His voice had the weight of authority, even in this. The party stilled – Skinner slowly let go of the Boss, lowering her back down to her feet and then turning away, going to wrap her arms around Dalish. Rocky, too, stepped away and Krem watched as Grim’s hand came up to the Dwarf’s shoulder and squeezed once.

They all watched as the Inquisitor’s halla, calm through the confrontation with Skinner, came and nosed at the Inquisitor’s arm. She turned into the beast, slung her arms about its head and pressed her face into its own. Her shoulders were shaking.

Stitches came to Krem then, “We need to set up camp,” The healer said, “And the prisoners need guarding. If the Chief is gone, you’re the one who gives the orders, Krem.”

It was a sharp reminder, and it made Krem look over at the prisoners, who were calmly regarding their grief and making no effort to escape (not that they could, chained as they were). He swallowed, nodded, and gave the order to set up camp.

It didn’t quite stick in his throat.

\---

Krem stared at the fire that danced merrily in front of him and tried to feel like the rug hadn’t been pulled out from under his feet. The camp had been set up around him in short order by a morose group that seemed at odds with the birds singing around them and the soft, gentle sounds of the woods. The work had been stiff, mechanical – fire made, tents set, guards and watchers posted and now the group had set to quietly comforting each other.

Dalish was sitting on the other side of the fire, head resting on Grim’s shoulder. As Krem stared into the flames, he caught on the edge of his sight the man slinging an arm about the elf and dragging her close. Rocky was tending to the horses with practiced motions that belied the way his shoulders shifted every so often in a sniff as he took each of the horses’ legs in turn and picked out any stones he found in their hooves. Stitches had tended to the Inquisitor and now pulled out a small flask. He didn’t drink from it – there was never any drinking in the Chargers while on a mission, no matter what happened – but he stared at it, running his fingers over the patterned metal surface.

The Inquisitor had taken Tamassran away from where Skinner was guarding the others, and was talking to her in a low, harsh tone that didn’t carry as far as the fire.

With jerky movements, Krem pulled himself to his feet and moved in the direction of the two women. As de-facto leader of the Chargers in the Bull’s… absence, it was his responsibility to be a part of this discussion, whether he (or the Inquisitor) wanted to be or not.

“You must understand that there will be sanctions and reprimands against your people,” The Inquisitor said, “An attach such as this one could bring the might of the South down upon the qunari. This could be interpreted as a direct attack against the Inquisition and in turn, the Chantry.”

The qunari woman looked at the Inquisitor and raised one very expressive eyebrow.

The Inquisitor let out a harsh breath at the expression, pushing a hand through her hair. “Help me, Tamassran,” She said, “I don’t want to cause any more death through this, but when the South finds out what happened here –”

“That your people became embroiled in a minor conflict with just one casualty?” The qunari asked, voice dry.

The Inquisitor flinched.

Tamassran smiled ever so faintly, “You are young, child. Thrust into power without a full understanding of what it entails. You are yet to understand what can be done, what can be excused by people reluctant to fight a power they are uncertain they can defeat. Your bid for war over a small-scale skirmish like this one would be seen as the selfish ramblings of a young woman letting her head be guided by a heart deemed foolish.” She blinked slowly, “Particularly in this case, when half are convinced that you’ve been bewitched by the foreign power as it is.”

“I’m trying to save your life!” The Inquisitor snapped at the woman, “If you reach Skyhold, _you’ll die._ At that point, I won’t be able to prevent it, war be damned. A foreign power, killed under my roof –”

“Would be seen as an inconvenience at best and an excuse to dethrone you should it push further. Child, do you think that the qunari did not prepare for such an eventuality?”

“You’d let yourself be sacrificed?”

“What have I done to garner your sympathy, I wonder?” Tamassran asked calmly, “What has earnt me your favour?” She leant in close to the Inquisitor, whose hand went to the dagger at her belt almost reflexively. Tamassran’s smile deepened, eyes alight with satisfaction.

“You don’t want to show me favour at all, do you?”

“I want to kill you.”

A bolt of shock shot through Krem at the frank admission. He hissed in a breath, forcing himself to take another step forward when he realised he’d stopped.

“I want to kill you,” the Inquisitor said again, “I’d like nothing more than to do so, but you were _his mother._ ”

“I was unaware that you had any great sympathy for the idea of motherhood,” Tamassran shot back. The Inquisitor’s shoulders hunched slightly before they very deliberately straightened.

Tamassran let out the slightest laugh, “Oh, did you truly believe him when he told you he’d said nothing of that to us?”

“ _That’s_ how you did it.”

It was Tamassran’s turn to look shocked. The woman took the slightest step backwards as Krem forced himself further towards the two arguing women.

“What else did you force him to tell you in that avarel, Tamassran? What else did you make him give to you so you could turn him against me?” Cold fury like Krem had never known painted the Inquisitor’s voice as she took a step into the taller woman’s space. The qunari didn’t give ground, though her arms tensed with the effort of remaining still, of not bringing her shackled hands up between herself and the elf in front of her. “ _What did you twist inside his head_?”

The qunari let out a bitter bark of laughter, “It seems I’ve underestimated you, little cat.” (The Inquisitor flinched again, more violently than before) “You’re fishing, aren’t you? Even you don’t expect me to admit defeat, you’ve just come to me to find out what you could before you lead me to the gallows.”

“There’s more to this,” The Inquisitor agreed.

“Hissrad always was a blunt weapon,” Tamassran said, “Surprising when he struck, true, but blunt all the same. People always use different weapons for different purposes.”

The rod of the Inquisitor’s spine stiffened further, hand tightening on her dagger, “Bull had the potential to be so much more than just a weapon,” She said, low, pained, “You’re the one who took that away from him, not me.”

That said, she spun on her heel, expression breaking from fury into surprise when she saw Krem.

Krem felt his stillness shatter, felt a sudden need to escape from these people, to get away from them before their poison could touch his soul any more than it already had.

“Krem –”

“I’ve heard enough,” He said, instead of letting the Inquisitor speak, “And I’m not going to be used in whatever sick game the two of you think you’re playing.”

He stormed away from the two of them as fast as he could, startling Skinner where she was guarding the prisoners as he stalked past.

He walked out of the campsite, needing some air.

\---

He heard the Inquisitor’s footsteps long before he saw her, which was her way of letting him know she was coming. If she’d wanted to sneak up on him, he never would’ve heard her until there was no way for him to get away.

“What are you doing here?” He asked her, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

He turned to face her, expecting to be confronted with the sight of her standing straight-backed and proud, retort ready on her lips and instead she just looked… weary, really. Impossibly drained.

“I don’t deserve it, I know,” She said, her voice quiet, “But I came to ask you to trust me.”

Krem flinched, violently.

The Inquisitor gave a smile that was more grimace than anything, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against a nearby tree. Her eyes were impossibly sad, and she looked significantly older than her years.

“You used him,” Krem accused, muscles tensing, “Then you got him killed.”

“If I were Bull,” The Inquisitor argued, “And I’d walked back into camp with information like that, but asking you to trust me, what would you do?”

“You’re not the Chief.”

_The Chief is dead._

“Krem –” The Inquisitor stepped away from the tree, reaching out to him. He jerked away from her hand.

“You got him _killed_!”

“There’s more to this, Krem!” Her eyes were wide and frantic for a moment before she reigned in the expression.

“All due respect, your Worship, but the Chargers’ contract was through the Chief, not me. He gave a shit about your war and at this moment, I really, _really_ , don’t.”

“I’m not talking about the war! I’m not talking about anything except fixing this,” The Inquisitor pleaded with him, hands opening and closing at her sides like she longed to reach for him, to shake him if she had to.

“You _can’t_ ,” Krem shot back, stepping towards her and looking down as anger welled up in his chest.

The Inquisitor, he noticed suddenly, was a head and a half shorter than him. He’d never seen it before – she’d always seemed to be taller than it was. With a jolt, he realised it was because she never looked up to anyone except for the Chief. Everyone else she looked at through her lashes, and it gave her the illusion of never having to lift her chin to meet someone’s eyes.

But she was smaller than him, and probably not nearly as strong as him, though she could move faster than anyone he knew. If he grabbed her, held her, shook her – she wouldn’t be able to escape.

It was almost a shock to realise that she wasn’t invincible. Part of him had always assumed that she was. She and the Chief – two forces of nature that just happened to be on the same side.

And one was dead.

“I know it seems like I can’t fix this, Krem, I _know_ it,” The pleading tone in her voice deepened as she looked up through her lashes at him, desperation was stiffening her shoulders, tensing her spine, “I’m asking you, _please,_ trust me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you would trust Bull!” She said again, “If he was here and telling you to trust you’d do it without question!”

“I’m not getting involved in a circular argument, your Worship, especially not at the moment.”

“Do you think Bull would have let me in if I didn’t have anything but the Charger’s best interests at heart?”

The words hit Krem like a body blow. He staggered back from the elf as if he’d been hit, and he spent a moment sucking in a breath to stabilize himself.

Krem had never been one to use words as weapons. The Chief and the Boss, though? They’d always had that down to an art.

But before everything had gone to shit, the Chief had been happier, calmer than Krem had ever known him. There’d been a shift in his personality that Krem couldn’t really trace to any one moment – after he’d given up the qun, perhaps – where something had taken root. It was indescribable, something in the way he’d moved, spoken, laughed. A truth that Krem couldn’t plave or narrow down, like the minute shift in the weather that tells you that a storm was starting to clear.

Did it matter, though, given that Bull was dead?

“There’s more to this, Krem. Please trust me.”

The Inquisitor reached out and placed her hand on Krem’s arm, and as she did, Krem saw a ghost of a boy staring up at him with imploring eyes saying so softly, _He couldn’t fight everything._

Krem’s heart pulled him away from sense, from reason. This wasn’t a skirmish, there was no strategy that he could see, there was nothing he’d practiced by rote until his body moved without thought, without hesitation.

The Chief was the one who was good at this shit. Who _had been_ good at this shit.

He closed his eyes and swallowed roughly, hands balling at his side.

“Is he really dead?”

The question surprised him, even as it slipped past his lips – but a thought had occurred to him.

The Inquisitor hadn’t said it yet.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her expression was crestfallen as she reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears before folding her arms across her chest.

“Please don’t make me say it, Krem,” She said, “I can’t.”

_That’s not a yes._

It wasn’t a no, either, but it was doubt, and with doubt came a new hope blossoming in Krem’s chest. “Alright,” He said, “I’ll trust you.”

The Inquisitor reached out and caught his hand between both of hers. “Thank you, Krem. This means the world to me.”

_Make it worth it, Inquisitor._

Krem opened his mouth to tell her those exact words, when he was interrupted by a sharp horn blast, urgent and piercing from the direction of the camp.

Both his and the Inquisitor’s heads shot up in the direction of the sound.

“That’s Rocky,” Krem was too well trained to panic, but his nerves, frayed already by the day, wavered.

The Inquisitor didn’t look surprised – her hand went to the dagger on her belt as she looked towards the direction of the sound.

“Carefully,” She warned. Krem drew his sword as she spoke and fell into place beside her.

Together, they quietly made their way back through the trees, pausing as they were greeted with a sight that threatened to drive Krem to despair.

The Chargers’ camp had been overthrown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ESPECIALLY AFTER I EXPLICITLY SAID IT WOULDN'T.
> 
> So basically I've learnt not to tempt fate as my life pretty much went to shit (very long story that I won't bore you with) after the last chapter and is about to pick up to crazy relocating-to-another-country levels once more. But the moral of the story is that Murphy doesn't like people saying certain phrases and I said one of them.
> 
> But this chapter was a sticking point for me in terms of plot anyway, and I'm kinda glad that it's out the way. I won't make any promises about updates this time but in addition to the stuff that happened in my life this chapter was kinda like pulling teeth in terms of the fact that the words simply wouldn't come. The next chapter is already about 1/4 drafted. We'll see how it goes.


	14. Chapter 14

_“When you leave the camp,”_  Bull had said,  _“Once you and Krem are gone – and he will go at some point, you’ll have to talk him back – Skinner’s gonna let the qunari out of their chains._ ”

Lavellan had looked over at Bull, and some of the confusion she’d been feeling must have shown on her face, because he’d given her a wry smirk.

_“Go on then, ask._ ”

“ _Isn’t she loyal? Why would she betray your trust like that?_ ”

Bull had shrugged and then winced, reaching up a hand to rub at a shoulder that must have still been stiff.  _“She’s loyal to a point._ ” He’d said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to think that your own comrade would betray you. Lavellan’d had to repress the shiver that raced down her spine, “ _She’ll want to kill the people who hurt her, Gatt’ll see her as the weak point because she hates you, and she’ll let him ‘convince’ her to let the qunari go.”_

_“So how do I stop her?”_

_“You don’t.”_  He’d grunted at that and wiped a hand down his face in an action that was so  _Bull_  that she’d wanted to lean in and catch his fingers with her hand. She’d stopped the urge, but not before she’d wrapped her arms around her waist in an effort to repress them. He hadn’t looked like he’d noticed, but who knew with him anymore?  _“You let her let ‘em loose. Trying to stop her’ll just make her more determined”_ He’d sighed.  _“You’re not alienage, (well, you weren’t for long enough for it to matter) so you don’t really get it. She’s gonna let them go because she wants to kill ‘em, but she’s too honourable to stab ‘em in the back._ ”

“ _So she’s going to put everyone in danger to get a chance to murder people in a fair fight?”_

_“Hey, I didn’t say it was smart, just honourable._ ”

She’d laughed at that, weakly.

He’d given her a lopsided smile in return.

_“See, knew I’d get you to laugh sooner or later._ ”

\---

The Inquisitor and Krem moved towards where the horn blast had originated from, keeping low and quiet through the underbrush. The woodland was still sparse – the last remnants of Winter still refusing to be shaken from the trees, and they knew that they would be seen soon enough, it was really just a matter of when.

They moved to where the camp had been set – a low clearing just off the main road to Skyhold and isolated enough that it wouldn’t be seen by people passing through – and when they came to the edge of the campsite they stopped, horrified by the sight that greeted them.

The camp was in ruins – the fire had been either trampled or put out, tents flapped loose from their pegs, horse ropes cut and beasts driven away by the noise of screams and fighting. The bags at the centre of the camp hadn’t yet been touched but the fight was still ongoing, and at this point it was only a matter of time until they were overturned or destroyed.

Lavellan didn’t let the sight get to her. Instead, she cast her eyes about, doing a quick survey of the damage and the resources remaining to her.

Dalish was sprawled, prone, on one edge of the clearing. Skinner stood above her, daggers flashing in a hectic fight against a qunari twice her size. As Lavellan watched, the elf ducked a sword blow, scooping up a handful of sand and throwing it into the larger fighter’s eyes. Her aim was accurate – the man howled and staggered back, before snarling and coming at her once more.

Rocky and Grim were facing off against Gatt and Vida – Vida got off a blast of force that threw Grim into a tree. The human slumped to the ground, unconscious (The Inquisitor hoped.) Stitches was prone by another tree, speaking of a similar fate, and now Rocky was outnumbered two-to-one. The dwarf seemed to take this as a challenge, letting off a mighty roar that someone his size shouldn’t have been able to make.

Tamassran stood at the far edge of the fight, watching but not participating. Far enough away that any chance Lavellan had to circle around and come at her would have been nullified by the fact that her companions would have been overcome during that time. Clever positioning for a non-combatant – someone who’d studied fights then, but if what Bull had told Lavellan was true about qunari political structures, Tamassran wouldn’t actually know how to fight, herself.

But the situation wasn’t good. Taken by surprise, the Chargers were in the dying stages of being routed by their prisoners. Even as they watched, Skinner deftly dodged one of the qunari’s meaty fists, only to be felled by the other.

“We need to help them,” The Inquisitor said, deciding suddenly to do something that was both reckless and brave at once, “Come on!”

She darted forward, hearing the tell-tale slide of a sword being drawn behind her. Her dagger was already in her hand, and she was on the qunari before he’d managed to gather up the weapon that Skinner had dropped.

The qunari saw her coming and stepped away from her dagger strike, but failed to dodge the swift, hard jab the Inquisitor had levelled at his ribs.

To be fair, it would have been a much better strike had she both her daggers instead of only the one.

It was like hitting concrete and probably hurt her hand much more than it hurt the qunari, and she had a small flash of regret as she felt one of her fingers crunch against the solid plane that was the qunari’s stomach. Pain blossomed in her hand, but not great enough to stop her from ducking and spinning away in time to dodge the punch that went whizzing over her head, rustling her hair as it passed.

The qunari turned to regard her as she shook her hand, swore because that made the pain bloom further, then drop into a defensive position. He laughed at her and said something in qunlat that ended with the viper’s sting that made it clear she’d just been insulted.

“Thank you,” She responded in the combination of Elvhen and King’s Tongue her clan used, “For settling a bet for me. I can now tell Bull that I _know_ he’s insulting me when he calls me that.” She gave the qunari her sharpest grin, “He owes me two silver.”

The qunari’s expression soured into a snarl.

He charged.

She dodged out of the way, launching a roundhouse kick at him as he passed her. Though her foot protested the action loudly and the kick did minimal damage, it upset his momentum and sent him sprawling forward to the ground. The Inquisitor readied her dagger, prepared to jump on his back to slash his throat –

And leapt backwards as a bolt of lightning struck where she’d been standing.

She brought her dagger up defensively, looking around to where Vida was staring at her, snarling, arm outspread. There was lightning dancing from his fingertips and spilling over his hand.

The air around her hummed with magic.

“Shit,” Said Lavellan, before the ground opened up at her feet.

\---

“ _I’ll be following behind you,”_ Bull had said, “ _But there’s a stop I’ll need to make first. The Chargers’ll look over the qunari camp, but they won’t know what they really need to look for._ ”

“ _And you do?”_ She’d asked him, frowning.

“ _Hey, that’s almost insulting. I’m Tal Vashoth, not_ Vashoth. _I know just fine what’d be important in a qunari camp._ ”

“ _But Tamassran knows you._ ” Lavellan pointed out, not unreasonably, “ _So wouldn’t she place things where it’s difficult for you to get to them?_ ”

His mouth had quirked at that. “ _The very same Tamassran who thinks I’m a good little qunari soldier?_ ”

“ _All I’m saying is that I don’t think you should underestimate her.”_

He’d waved off her concern, but something had flickered uneasily in his eye. After a moment of consideration, he’d said, “ _In that case it’s all the more important that you know you can’t fully rely on me to get your ass out of the fire. Try not to get it in there if you can._ ”

\---

Everything _hurt_.

She came up coughing, hand and head screaming from the abuse she’d inflicted on them, the rest of her battered body was one throbbing line of pain that creaked and groaned in protest as she drew herself up to her feet. She was given no time to gather herself as the ground shifted again under her feet and she had to leap away, landing and jumping again before she was fully settled.

She dashed towards Krem, throwing herself over the wall that appeared in front of her, even as a hot burst of agony raced through her hand, then when she reached the top, dancing frantically to hold her footing as the magic collapsed underneath her feet.

Flame shot past her, she dodged, rolled and skidded behind a tree, panting and clutching her dagger to her chest, head drumming wildly in time to the frantic rhythm of her heart.

“If I’d known your aim was so terrible,” She called, “I would’ve had my requisition’s officer make you spectacles!”

As soon as the sentence was out of her mouth, she cringed.

_Not your best taunt, there, Kal._

She heard the crackle of magic and ducked out from behind the tree, leaping into a roll as ice encased it, leaving her breath coming out in misty clouds as she came back up to the unprotected left of the mage. She drew her arm back to throw her weapon at his head.

She’d forgotten about the qunari.

He slammed into her, throwing her into the ground. She rolled away, coming up in time to parry a blow from a stolen sword, sparks flying as steel hit the polished Aurum of her dagger. She pressed in, arm muscles straining, as much as she dared, close enough to smell breath stale from days of travelling, to see the dirt smeared into the pores of his face.

“Care to dance?” She asked, before slamming her knee somewhere very close and personal.

The qunari gave a strangled grunt and dropped his sword, and she leapt away from him as he staggered. She shifted her momentum, ducked around him and drew her dagger across the back of one of his knees.

He went down, but Vida was there to replace him, a fireball landing in the earth in front of her, throwing dirt and debris up into her eyes. She swore, trying to blink her vision clear, but the elf was upon her, all claims to finesse gone in the way of blind fury.

They grappled, rolling along the ground, the Inquisitor striking out with fists and feet and knees and teeth wherever she could, Vida merely holding on, green eyes burning with a poisonous kind of hatred.

“Enough!” The Inquisitor shouted at last, bringing the mark between them, slamming it into Vida’s chest and fully unleashing the stored power within it.

Time seemed to slow as the other elf soared through the air, landing in an unconscious heap a few feet away. The Inquisitor rolled to her feet, nursing her broken hand and panting, trying to hide her surprise at the strange behaviour of the mark.

And then a voice to her right said, “You’re right, my little cat, that’s enough indeed.”

Lavellan looked up.

Gatt had Krem on his knees, and had a sword at his throat.

\---

“ _When the Chargers lose –”_

_“So much for a vote of confidence.”_

Bull had grunted, taking another mouthful of the jerky that Lavellan had pulled out of her pocket. Then he’d given her the kind of look that one reserves for a child who interrupts their parents.

“ _I believe in ‘em just fine,”_ He’d said, “ _But Krem won’t be there and they’ll be off guard._ ”

_“So what you’re saying is that you didn’t train them.”_

Bull had looked up sharply at that, she’d given him an almost playful smirk.

“ _I trained ‘em just fine. Better than fine. But as well trained as they are, they’re still probably going to lose.”_ He’d raised his eyebrow, then, mirroring her smirk, _“Or do you disagree?”_

She’d frowned and given that the consideration it deserved, before finally answering, “ _No._ ”

“ _Exactly._ ” He’d grunted then, and shifted his bad ankle closer to their small fire. “ _Shit, hurts like a bitch after all that cold for however many days it was._ ”

“ _Ten._ ”

She’d looked into the fire at that, instead of at him, but she could still feel the intense scrutiny of his gaze where it landed on her. She didn’t outwardly react, picking a twig off the ground and throwing it into the crackling flames in front of her, making them pop and spark as they reached hungrily for the slightly damp wood. After a long moment, Bull’s gaze passed on, and when she looked up it was because he’d sworn quietly.

“ _Whatever it was Tama took, I must’ve wanted to hold onto it pretty badly._ ”

A shiver raced across her skin, but she ignored it.

“ _When the Chargers lose?_ ” She’d asked, to fill the ringing silence.

“ _You’ll probably be caught up in it, and Tama’s end goal has always been you. She won’t kill you straight away, though, and it’s your goal to keep yourself away from her for as long as possible.”_

He’d grimaced, sympathy in the lines of his face. “ _I need you to stall for time. It’s dangerous, could result in you being dead._ ”

Then he’d landed the kicker, _“I need you to trust in me if things look like they’re going south._ ”

She’d sighed, looked back into the fire, tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart.

“ _I’m going for first watch._ ” She’d told him, and stood up to walk away.

\---

Tamassran regarded the Inquisitor with cool eyes.

“Drop your weapon,” said the qunari, back straight, hands clasped in front of her. She looked like a teacher studying a clever but challenging pupil, rather than a woman who wanted to kill her.

“Sorry, but I can’t exactly drop all of me.” Even as she spoke, she let her dagger drop to the ground at her feet. She held her hands up in a placating gesture.

The qunari she’d downed hobbled over to her, her cuts not going as deep as she’d hoped they had. He kicked her dagger away, then slammed the flat of his blade into the back of her knees with more force than she considered the action really deserved. She fell forward, landing hard, but still looked up at him through her hair.

“I hope you weren’t planning on having children.”

He snarled and backhanded her across the mouth.

It made her head ring, vision clouding for a moment as she struggled to stay upright. When she was in control of her spinning head again, she looked over towards Tamassran.

“Run, your Worship!” Krem shouted as Tamassran moved forward, “You’re more important than we are, let them kill me and go back for –”

Gatt kicked him in the stomach.

Hot anger flared in Lavellan, pushing up as heat behind her eyes, in her throat, and it took every ounce of control to not get up from where she was on her knees, to stay still while the qunari wrenched her hands behind her back and fixed them together with cold manacles.

Tamassran stopped in front of her, hands still clasped, coat carefully in place. She reached out and put a gentle hand under Lavellan’s chin, tilting her face so that they were looking fully at each other.

The Inquisitor had never been so tempted to spit in her life.

“You truly hate me, don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t?”

The qunari woman tilted her head in acquiescence of that, before the edges of her lips quirked up in the faint smirk she’d seen so often mirrored on Bull’s face. “I’ve seen,” She said, “Flashes sometimes of the reasons why he chose you. Wildness and daring, a quick wit and a calm head in a fight. A willingness to do what is needed over what would be socially preferable. A temper, difficult to rouse but very much there. You’re angry, aren’t you, little cat?”

“Did he pick up the habit of giving nicknames from you as well?” She bared her teeth at the woman in front of her in a feral grimace, “There’s something you left off the list,” She added, beyond being polite, “And that’s that I’m a really, _really_ good fuck.”

“Oh, perhaps I have roused the temper if you’re being crass.” Tamassran’s hand moved up to caress Lavellan’s cheek – Lavellan resisted the urge to try and bite it. “I’ve heard many things about your unshakeable politeness, and yet, here we are. You trying to unsettle me with language I’ve heard from imekari half your age.”

“Do they have an army that’s twice mine’s size?” The Inquisitor asked, “Or the power of my friends? What will your imekari do when my army bears down on them? When the might of Ferelden and Orlais retaliate because the Inquisitor is dead?”

Tamassran tilted her head, an owl studying a mouse.

“Dead?” She asked, “My dear, whoever gave you the idea that I wanted you dead?”

The Inquisitor stiffened, even as Tamassran reached into her coat, putting a hand into one of the concealed pockets there. They both ignored the thing that clattered to the ground in favour of the small vial that Tamassran withdrew.

“No, dear cat, that was Hissrad’s solution to counter what he knew I wanted to do, and because Hissrad is who he is, he would have known what I wanted to do the instant that I had him shown _this._ ”

The vial of qamek rested in Tamassran’s hand.

The Inquisitor stiffened, fear rolling up through her gut. She snarled, tried to struggle against the qunari that had his hands on her shoulders.

“Even if you use that on me, Bull’s too far away from here to say it was him.”

She kept her eyes off Krem, even as she heard him struggling, heard Gatt hit him again. She needed to keep Tamassran’s attention off him – it couldn’t flick to him at all if he were to come through this alive and _sound_.

Even if it meant she wasn’t, at the end of this.

“Hissrad stole this from me as soon as he knew I had it,” Tamassran said, “Your reaction to it is similarly interesting, Inquisitor.” She cupped Lavellan’s cheek again. Her fingers, Lavellan noticed in a slightly hysterical part of her mind, were warm and gentle – a mother’s hands. “How do you know what this is?”

“You think it’s the first time I’ve seen it?”

“There you go again, lying with the truth. You’re very good at that.” Tamassran’s voice was lined with faint praise as her fingers brushed Lavellan’s hair back from her face and tucked it behind one pointed ear. “It was in your pocket, so of course you’ve seen it before – but you want me to think that you’ve encountered qamek before, don’t you? You want me to not question how you know what it is, even though no-one out of qunadar would.”

Tamassran knelt to get on the same level as the Inquisitor, face warm and motherly soft, “I find myself ready to admit that I believed you,” She said, “The fall that you survived through sheer luck could very well have taken Hissrad’s life. You could have then searched him and found this.” She sighed, “But that doesn’t explain your missing dagger, little cat, or the fact that you know what this is.”

Tamassran sighed, “I believed you because I thought he would kill you had he survived, but instead he sent you back to me, armed with the very weapon he tried to stop me using on you – didn’t he?”

_Keep it if you want – for insurance._

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, the fingers in her hair moved back to her chin and tugged her face up once more.

She opened her eyes and glared at Tamassran.

“Do you really still think he’s on your side?” Tamassran asked quietly.

“Do you think he’s not?” Lavellan replied.

Tamassran blinked, before her expression shuttered closed. “We took you out of him,” She said, “You and your relationship.”

“You did,” Lavellan agreed, “Probably because Gatt told you that he went Tal Vashoth for me.” She let her smile turn cutting, let her voice take on a razor’s edge. The woman in front of her stood, took a step back from the expression.

“Gatt was wrong,” Said the Inquisitor, “I wasn’t the reason he went Tal Vashoth. My relationship with him wasn’t why he left the qun. In that entire series of events, all I did was let him know that it was okay.”

Tamassran’s delicate expression didn’t shift.

“Okay to do what, exactly?” She asked, in the feather soft tone she’d been using the whole conversation.

Bull’s voice answered her, “Okay to go Tal Vashoth for the Chargers.”


	15. Chapter 15

Bull wasn’t sure whether what he was doing was stupid, dangerous, or both.

After all, it wasn’t like this was a mission with just him and his boys against a faceless asshole that needed killing. It was the Boss, and it was his Tama, and if there were two brains he knew that were sacks of cats, it was those two hands down. And he’d sent the Boss back to Tama armed with little more than a concussion and the very weapon Tama wanted to use against her in the hopes that she could buy him time.

Not only that, but he was putting the Chargers in danger through Skinner as well, and trusting that the enmity she had towards the Boss (that hadn’t ever seemed too dangerous before) was shallow enough that it wouldn’t throw the boys into trouble that was thicker than they could handle. He was pretty sure that the Boss and Krem could keep them safe, but there was a big difference between pretty sure and sure.

And that wasn’t even considering the biggest variable in all this – himself.

Because what he’d said to the Boss was true – he _was_ compromised. He’d been in the clutches of the qunari for ten days, if the Boss was to be believed, and that was ten days when they could’ve put any damn thing in his head that he wouldn’t know about until it was too late to do anything about it.

But he needed to know – needed to _understand_ – why his Tama was doing this. What was her angle? What was the leverage that they had on her that was making her do shit that he’d never thought she’d do? And if that meant that the Boss had to serve as distraction for long enough for him to find out –

He had faith enough that she could do it.

He knew, after all, that his faith in her wasn’t what they took from him. Shit, they’d have needed more than ten days to shake that part of his soul out, even if it turned out his faith in himself was a little more easily taken.

But Bull hated being in the dark – he always had. He hated not knowing the variables, hated the empty feeling where he knew something was missing, but couldn’t for the life of him get what it _was_ back in his head. He hated not being in control of the events around him, hated that Tamassran had thrown him for a loop in the way only she could – striking at his vulnerabilities and nearly bringing him to his knees.

_Nearly._

He felt his lips twist into a wry grimace as he walked along the edge of the ravine, back in the direction of where he and the Boss had fallen down the cliff, back to where he thought he’d find the qunari camp. The cool air bit at him as he passed, making him shudder as thoughts of ice crawling across his skin stirred at the back of his mind. He grunted at himself and pushed the thought down, resisting the urge to rub at his wrists, or at the bandage on his shoulder.

He came across, eventually, an area where the earth was rough and overturned, giant ruts in the earth indicating sword hits, both from qunari and Charger alike. Smashed glass lined the spot where the Boss had used her miasma cloak, and arrows and bolts lay scattered on the ground, shafts broken, one or two bloodied. Broken foliage lined the area, and there were marks like char and ash every so often, sure signs of the use of magic.

He frowned, moving through the area to the broken aravel that sat like a sad monument on the far side of the scene. He remembered the jolt that had been the axel snapping – pushed too hard and too far through the forest, over rough terrain that it couldn’t quite handle, the wooden shaft had finally shattered on a rock in a bump that had sent Bull flying from one side of the cart to the other. He remembered the almost panicked chatter that had come from the elves outside the small vehicle, the angry barks of the qunari bringing them back in line, and a harsh, deep voice that said they’d run far enough away that they could feasibly make a stand.

 _It had nothing to do with the fact that the Boss was a better tracker than they’d given her credit for_ , Bull thought, smiling savagely, _nothing at all._

He remembered Tama coming into the aravel, telling him in that quiet singsong to be patient and still, to reclaim his honour as a qunari by bringing the Inquisitor down.

And he’d been still, he’d played along.

He had to save his Chargers, after all.

He moved past the aravel in the direction to where he guessed the qunari would have set up camp. A short way away, well within hearing distance, he found it. In slight disarray, it stood abandoned, showing the signs that he expected to see. Animals had been at the food, packs were in disarray, and who the fuck knew what had happened to the beast that’d been pulling the aravel. He knew he’d find little in the packs or areas of the camp that looked important – the Chargers would’ve done their damn job and already been through here ferreting for whatever they could find – but he knew that Tama would more than likely hide the most important things in plain sight, in the places that a person wouldn’t expect to look because it felt too obvious.

He went to an upended trunk that sat on one edge of a suspiciously circular alignment of packs. The qunari wouldn’t have used a campfire, but they’d have still stuck close to each other if they were able.

He righted the trunk in one deft movement, then winced as the action pulled at his still healing shoulder. He put his hand to the bandage wrapped around it and rolled it out absently, testing the stretch of the healing wound, pleased to find the pain not unbearable. The Boss had done a good job, even for her shitty bedside manner. He let his hand fall and scraped out what was left in the trunk until it was clear of everything but the dark-stained wood of its interior and set to work.

He took the Boss’ blade out of his belt, palming it and running the flat of its’ blade along the upper inside edge of the crate, feeling around for any hidden notches or indents.

He found three poisoned needles that would have killed him had he been using his fingers to check, before he found what he was looking for. On the side farthest away from him, about an inch from the corner, the tip of the dagger slipped into a small hole. He grinned and levered the dagger into the hole, hearing the satisfying ‘crack’ of a mechanism breaking, before the side panel of the crate fell inwards, revealing a hidden compartment which several sheets of parchment fell out of. They scattered over the bottom of the crate.

“Bullseye,” He said, before smirking at his own pun.

He searched the rest of the crate for anything else, found nothing, then carefully used the tip of the dagger to flick over each piece of parchment in turn, not-quite trusting Tama to only have one trap at the ready. When he was satisfied that there were no more nasty surprises waiting, he gathered up the parchment, folded it neatly and slipped it into the saddle bag that the Boss had given him.

He looked about the qunari camp once more, and finding nothing of note, turned to leave.

“What do we have here?” Asked Varric, as Bull found himself faced with the business end of Bianca.

\---

Varric’s crossbow, Bull had thought many times in his recent life, was a beautiful beast of a machine, cared for like a lover and kept in perfect, deadly order by the man who owned her.

Funnily enough, it was that last part that worried him when she creaked ominously. That might have had something to do with the fact that she was currently pointed at Bull’s chest, angled at just the right angle that were the bolt to fire, it would slide between his ribs and strike his heart.

Funny how you never really appreciated someone’s aim until you found yourself on the receiving end of it.

So, Bull, in true fashion, decided to pretend that the threat to his life didn’t exist. “Well, this is friendly. How’s it going, Varric?”

“It’s blocked,” Said a voice from Bull’s elbow. He didn’t look down to see the kid, the crossbow being what he deemed more important at the given moment, “Blunted, broken. Twisted, tied, taken away until it’s turned in on itself. Not qunari, no, but not Tal-Vashoth either. Running the line between both – not the Inquisition’s soldier.”

Bianca creaked again. Bull watched Varric’s finger tighten minutely on her trigger.

“Not sure if you’re trying to help me or get me killed, here, Kid,” Bull said, not taking his eyes off the weapon. He tried not to sound too resigned as he spoke. “I mean, I’m pretty sure that if I was going to be dead I’d be dead at a distance, but I’m still not liking the whole crossbow pointed at my vitals bit that’s going on here.”

“Sorry,” Said Cole, sounding like he meant it. The spirit boy moved forward, coming to stand at Varric’s side. He stooped slightly more than usual to say to the dwarf, “He’ll help us.”

Varric frowned, “You sure, Kid?”

“He’ll help us until she says his name. Then he’ll hurt.”

The crossbow wavered, but didn’t lower.

“Who?” Varric asked, “Us, or them?”

“Yes.”

Varric closed his eyes and sighed, but the crossbow didn’t drop. Bull allowed himself to relax a fraction.

“Last I saw you, Tiny, you were being dragged down a cliff by Lilac.”

Bull answered the unspoken question, “She’s alive. We decided it was best we split up for now.”

Varric opened his eyes and glared, “And I should believe you because...?”

Bull tossed the back he was holding at the dwarf’s feet, then went back to his relaxed stance. “In there,” He said, “You’ll find food, tools and a series of letters written in qunlat and addressed to Tamassran. The Boss gave me all except the last which I found here.”

Varric looked down at the saddlebag, frowning before his mouth formed the words ‘the Boss.’ There was a momentary flash of confusion across his face, before his expression settled into something a lot more resigned. “She trusts you too much,” The dwarf said, lowering Bianca to his side but keeping her bolt notched and ready, “I’m not about to make the same mistake. How did you get her to go from death threats and murder to giving you that?”

“I asked,” Bull said, dryly, “You can keep the crossbow on me if it makes you feel better, but I’ve gotta find my sword if I’m going to be any use.”

“Pink and grey like a sunset at sea. Her cheeks are pink when I look up, just a flash buried in the centre. ‘ _Still pretty, not brittle._ ” A smile, soft, sweet, strange. Quiet and still. Certain and uncertain. Nervousness in her eyes and that won’t do. ‘ _You’re shit at giving gifts, you know – it’s not even wrapped._ ’”

Bull stiffened suddenly, a flash of… something… fighting its way through him, there and then gone like a sunbeam on a cloudy day. He frowned slightly at the spirit.

Cole ducked away, folded his hands together. “It’s not deja-vu if it’s real.”

“ _If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back._ ”

“ _Never said I didn’t want it._ ”

A chill ran the length of Bull’s spine.

He stamped down on it hard. “Kid, I know you’re trying to help,” He said, gruffly, “But I need my head in the game for this. Whatever it is, it can wait until we’re done here, okay?”

He stepped away from the dwarf and the spirit and made a show of going back to the campsite, ferreting through the piles that were spread out around them.

Varric sighed behind him and there was the sound of a crossbow being disarmed, “Shit, Tiny. They got you good.” Bull heard him moving up behind him, “Krem has your sword. You can stop looking like you’ve seen a spirit.”

“I’m a spirit.”

“A spirit who’s not supposed to be here, Kid.”

“I’m not supposed to be here, but you pretend I am,” Cole’s voice was melancholic, and it made Bull sigh and turn to face the two of them again.

“If Krem’s got my sword,” He said, “There’s not going to be anything else here that’s useful to us. You got a bird, Varric?”

“One that’s supposed to go to the Chargers, yes.”

“Well,” Said Bull, “It’s gonna get diverted. We’ve gotta get word to the Inquisition.”

\---

The three of them picked their way back through the undergrowth, following the Charger’s trail and moving at a ground-eating lope that covered as much distance as they could while still conserving some of their energy. They were a silent party, for the most part, Varric still watching Bull uneasily, and Cole keeping his musings (if he had them) unspoken. Signs of Spring peered out of the forest around them as they passed, shoots of green amongst dead branches, here and there the sound of a bird startled into flight by their passage.

The mountains that held Skyhold rose around them, Bull realised that his guess had been right – the qunari had headed North up to the Waking Sea and had probably planned a trek back over the ocean to Qunandar if they’d made it that far.

That would’ve been the first plan – if the Inquisitor hadn’t followed. Take him back, get him re-educated, probably send him back in as a smiling face in a few years, armed with a knife to stab the Inquisitor in the back. It’d happened before in Thedosian history; he was pretty sure it would happen again.

But the Inquisitor had followed, and there’d been a multitude of other plans, showing a forethought that unnerved Bull even as it left him with a healthy new respect for his homeland. They wanted the Inquisitor out of the picture – wanted Orlais and Ferelden back in the chaos of the past few years. They were planning something.

The saddlebag over his shoulder felt heavier than it ought.

He grunted, swung the bag down off his shoulder and reached into it, pulling out three pieces of jerky. He handed one each to Cole and Varric, taking the other for himself, and trying to put the machinations of Par Vollen from his mind. It wasn’t a problem that could be solved in a day, after all.

It was Varric who eventually broke the silence.

“Shit,” Said the dwarf, “What’s that smell?”

It was faint on the air, like meat just starting to turn bad, and they discovered its cause not far from their position. The qunari’s beast, the one that had been pulling the aravel, lay dead and half pulled apart by scavenging animals. Insects buzzed around the carcass, the smell of blood and meat stronger here than it had been when they were further away.

“Charming,” Said Varric, nose delicately wrinkled at the sight.

“At least we know what happened to it,” Bull said, stepping forward and crouching down near the poor creature’s head. He stopped short of touching it, however. “Can’t be more than two, three days old. Cold meant it hasn’t started to really rot yet.”

“Not sure if I should be thankful you weren’t kidnapped in high summer or concerned that it’s a consideration.”

Bull smirked, looking the beast over to see if there was any sort of identifying mark on it. “You honestly telling me this is the weirdest shit you’ve ever pulled, Tethras?”

“Well,” Said the dwarf, “There was this one time involving a qunari and a party.”

“Halamshiral doesn’t count.” Biting the bullet and feeling mildly disgusted, Bull rolled the creature over so he could see the other side. There weren’t any distinguishing features on its hide at all, which made him frown.

“You think you’re the only qunari I’ve taken to a ball, Tiny?” Varric quipped, where he was looking around the beast, having seen what Bull was doing and deciding to help, “The other one was much prettier than you.”

“Tallis smiles like a dagger flashing, sharpness hidden in words flashed and parried with a flying bird. Drinks and dancing and food that tastes like despair.”

Bull paused and looked over at Varric, “A Tallis, huh?” He said, feeling mildly impressed, “You’ll have to tell me about that one some time.”

“You would’ve liked her, Tiny, she was a redhead.”

Bull let out a sharp bark of laugher, “Sorry, but I don’t do that anymore.”

Then he froze.

Frowned.

Cole stooped near the animal’s head, looking into its glassy eyes. “They took it away from you,” He said, running his fingers over the fur on the dead beast’s face, “You’re fighting to get it back, but you were fighting to stop yourself losing it too. You can’t fight it all, but that’s okay because she doesn’t expect you to.”

“Kid, I thought I told you to stop this.”

Bull’s voice didn’t shake, even as he straightened away from the creature and jerked his head at Varric and then back to the road. He was too well trained to look anything but completely at ease as he stepped away from the dead creature.

Cole lingered a moment longer before he followed.

_“I don’t like it.”_

_“I know.”_

_“But I trust you.”_

_“I know that, too.”_

Bull swallowed, took a harsh breath through his nose.

And because he didn’t have time for whatever the hell this was, he kept walking.

\---

They heard the fighting long before they reached the Chargers.

All too well trained to run straight for the fray, they paused, though Cole was physically vibrating from the need to help.

Bull sighed. “Tama’ll think I’m dead,” He said to the others, “Or that I’m on side. The Boss is gonna try and buy us some time to get closer, so we’ve got to get into position. She won’t be able to buy that much until Tama forces her hand, so we’ll have to do it quickly.”

“Out of curiosity,” Varric replied in an undertone, “What would you have done if Cole and I hadn’t split from the Chargers? No backup, potentially deadly situation?”

Bull looked down at the dwarf, not liking the queer, calculating expression on Varric’s face.

He decided that he owed the man the truth – after all, Varric was taking a shit-ton on faith right now, and Bull knew that it was harder than it seemed for the dwarf to do.

“It wouldn’t have happened,” Bull told him, simply. “The Kid’s got too much of a need to help people and, well…” He gestured with a hand at himself.

_I’m halfway re-educated. Don’t know a situation that’d attract the Kid more._

“Then there’s you. You worry for the kid; you’d chase him to make sure he’s okay.” He rolled a shoulder, “You’ve got too much heart not to.”

“Always did have a soft spot for hopeless cases,” Varric agreed, though he looked unsettled, “Sometimes I get uncomfortably reminded of how damn _shrewd_ you are, Tiny.”

“Nah, I just hit shit.”

That made Varric smirk and shake his head.

They didn’t speak any more after that, moving quietly through the undergrowth towards the sound of battle. About halfway to the clearing, Bull gestured – sending Varric around to flank one way, and Cole around the other.

As for Bull himself –

He’d always liked the direct approach.

The camp had gone quiet as he moved forward, and he could just hear the muffled sounds of Tama and the Boss talking quietly. He stepped into the clearing just as the Boss shot a razor-edged smile up at Tama from where she was on her knees.

“I’m not the reason he went Tal-Vashoth,” He heard her say.

Tama took a step back, though both of the women had their attentions squarely focused on the other. Bull took the opportunity to hang back a little, get an eye for the lay of the land.

He didn’t like what he saw.

The Chargers were all unconscious, except for Krem who was being held at sword point by Gatt. Both of those things were deliberate – the Chargers were collateral and if Bull was to be framed for this, it didn’t make sense for him to have killed them in addition to hurting the Inquisitor. They’d probably live through this no matter the outcome, just because killing them wasn’t something that Bull could be reasonably expected to do.

But Krem – Well. Krem was to keep the Inquisitor down, to tie her hands and make her pliant enough that the qunari could act with impunity. The Boss wouldn’t strike out while her friend was in danger – she’d always been a little bit of a soft-touch on that regard, and she’d willingly put her life on the line to keep her people safe. He’d seen her do it before and if they were lucky, he’d see her do it again in the future.

He chanced a glance at her as he moved forward. There wasn’t any fear in her - where she was on her knees, a meaty qunari hand on the back of her neck holding her down – but there was something dangerous in her eye, shrewd and calculating and hunting for a way out, even as she continued to speak, continued to try and fluster Tama enough that the older woman made a mistake.

_That’s my girl._

He grinned wolfishly as he heard her finish her little speech, “I’m just the one who said it was okay.”

A person not as experienced as Bull would have missed the cracks showing in Tama’s disposition, the places where the Inquisitor was chipping away at her façade. She was unsettled, there was an unnatural straightness to her posture, back rigid and tense, feet parted, weight on her toes. The conversation was going off-script, the Boss showing her ability to adapt on the fly, take things in unexpected directions, to refuse to break even when she should have by now been outplayed and calling for help, begging for mercy.

“Okay to do what?” Tamassran’s husky voice wavered, Bull’s chest swelled with pride for the elf on her knees.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck as he stepped forward to answer the question, “Okay to go Tal-Vashoth for the Chargers,” He said, making sure it was loud enough to carry.

Relief broke over the Inquisitor’s face like a wave, before she brought the expression to heel, and Bull felt his own face break into his most deadly grin. He took another step forward into the clearing, conviction strengthening his resolve. “Okay,” He said, “To put family in front of duty.” He punctuated the words by stepping forward, straightening his spine, standing at his full height, “Okay to be myself, Tama. Take your fucking pick which answer you want.”

He looked over to the Inquisitor, she met his eye with a smile that filled him with unexpected warmth. Sweet and soft and trusting, and so _very_ relieved.

“Hey, Boss.”

“Good to have you back, Bull.”

“Ashkaari.” Bull turned his attention to Tama. Her posture had gone from stiff to stooping, hand on her chest under her cloak. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t come.” She turned and gestured to Curly. “Hold her.”

The Inquisitor was roughly dragged to her feet, the qunari who held her pressing his blade to her throat. In response to this, the elf glared defiantly in Tama’s direction, tilting her chin so she could look at the woman through her lashes.

She looked haughty, arrogant, beautiful.

Unafraid.

Krem, too, was hoisted to his feet. Bull raised his eyebrow as he looked between his second and his boss, knowing what was coming before Tama had even spoken the words.

“Before you stand two people, Ashkaari,” She said, in the voice of a woman giving a lecture to a spoilt child, “Two people who represent all it was that you abandoned the Way for. Choose one for me to kill, or I shall kill them both.”

Bull sighed. “Is this how it’s going to be, Tama?” He asked, tone as reasonable as he could make it, “Bluffs and double-bluffs until each of us is dead? Games and intrigues and lies and deceit? Aren’t you _tired_?”

“Choose, Hissrad.”

The name hit him like the slap it was intended to be.

“ _Liar.”_

 _“All my life._ ”

He tried again, “Did you like the touch with the qamek?” This time he switched his tongue to qunlat, ignoring the way the words made him feel like he was keeping a secret, “Sowing just enough doubt that even now you’re not acting like you should, trying to work out instead what I’m gonna do?”

He took another step forward, shrugged, “But that’s what you get for creating someone like me, Tama. A _weapon_ like me. You know I hit hard, but you don’t know which way I’m gonna swing.”

He landed the final blow, “And all you’re left with is a choice. Do you trust your weapon, or do you fucking fear it enough to do something you know that you’ll regret?”

He took no small amount of pleasure in the chill that ran visibly over the woman in front of him. The _qunari_ in front of him.

“I’ve lost you,” She said quietly.

He switched back to King’s tongue. “You never had me, Tama. You trained me too well.”

A crossbow bolt launched from the underbrush, taking Curly between the eyes. The qunari collapsed, dead.

Gatt, however, had been paying more attention to his surroundings. He leapt out of the way as Cole attacked, meeting the spirit’s flashing daggers with a parry before striking back. Krem pushed away from him, hands coming up defensively, even as the Vint looked over at Bull, flashing a grin that was everything that made up his second.

Bull rolled his eye. “Get to work, Aclassi.” He snapped, jerking his chin to where Cole and Gatt were facing off.

“Aye, Chief!” Krem called back, leaping into the fray.

Bull gave one last contemptuous glance to Tama, before he moved to the Boss. The elf’s eyes were sparkling with delight as she leapt into the air, tucking herself into a ball and bringing her manacled hands around to the front of her body in one practiced move.

“Thank you,” She said, softly, as Bull passed her back her dagger. He knew she didn’t mean just for the weapon.

Still, he shrugged, grinning at her. “Thanks for the loan.”

“Asking would be nice, next time,” She told him, smiling softly.

He reached out, hesitating slightly, a movement half-forgotten, like he wanted to do something but couldn’t quite think what it would be. His hand hung awkwardly between them a moment before he put it back down at his side.

“Yeah, well, you know how these things go. Forgiveness and permission and shit.”

Something flicked across her face, too fast for him to read, before she looked back to the battlefield.

She frowned.

“Wait,” She said, “Bull, where’s Vida?”

The sword through her stomach caught them both by surprise.

“I’m right here, Inquisitor,” Hissed a voice behind them.

The world slowed.

Bull turned, as the Boss made a noise, strangled and small. She looked down, disbelievingly, to where a foot of steel cut through her stomach, covered with blood that glistened like rubies in the cool spring light. She opened her mouth, looked up at him again.

Her eyes were impossibly wide, face impossibly pale, freckles and scar standing out like constellations on her skin, hair the same colour as her blood brushing against her cheek.

“Boss?” The word escaped him, impossibly small, as his stomach bottomed out.

Her eyes took on a pained, glazed sheen as she reached towards him, her mouth opened, one word floating out of it like a bird released.

“Vhenan…”

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she toppled slowly, like a marionette with cut strings.

And suddenly, all Bull knew was _rage._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the rest of this fic is actually drafted, it's just waiting for me to type it. I won't say that updates should come quickly, but I was hit by a writing bug not long ago and the draft is finished. We're in the home stretch from this point on. 
> 
> As for what happens next, well...
> 
> You'll find out.


	16. Chapter 16

Krem didn’t see the Boss fall, caught up as he was fighting off Gatt.

The elf was coming at him with renewed vigour, slashes sloppy and desperate, hacking swings with force but no finesse. Krem ducked one blow, gathered up Grim’s abandoned sword and blocked the next, meeting blade for blade.

Then he heard the Chief bellow.

The sound rolled around the clearing, filling the air like the snarl of a wounded animal, and as Cole darted in and slashed with his daggers at Gatt, Krem pulled away and chanced a glance over his shoulder in the Chief’s direction, fear turning his blood to ice.

The Boss was on the ground, sword sticking out of her middle, and the Chief was above her, roaring in a mixture of pain and fury. As Krem watched, the Chief grabbed the elf mage standing defiantly near him by the throat, hoisted him into the air and threw him into the ground with all the force of a battering ram.

A glint of sunlight on blade caught Krem’s attention and he turned in time to catch Gatt’s blade on his own. He turned the strike and slashed out himself. Gatt snarled as he was forced to leap away from the blow, then dodge away again as Cole came in low and sharp.

There was a deliberate edge to the spirit’s movements – Cole was pushing Gatt away from Krem, forcing the elf to narrow his focus.

“He needs you to stop him,” Said the spirit as he blocked one of Gatt’s strikes, “Hurting, helpless, hating. You need to _stop him._ ”

Krem glanced back at the Chief and what he saw made him stumble, would’ve got him killed if it weren’t for Cole fighting alongside him.

The Chief was still bellowing in rage, even as he slammed his fists into the prone elfin mage over and again.

Krem swore; Cole pushed Gatt back – away from him, and with his heart beating frantically in his throat, Krem rushed towards the Chief, sword drawn and held in front of him, both in defence and as a warning. “Chief!”

Krem got no response to that – the Chief didn’t even so much as look up, continuing his bloody beating off the elf. He swore again, before shouting (in his best ‘ _controlling the Chargers when they’re being shits’_ voice) “The Iron Fucking Bull!”

Nothing. Maybe a snarl amongst the roars.

In desperation, Krem looked about the battle, eyes falling to the ground where the Boss was slumped over. She wasn’t bleeding, he noticed, but it was more because she was still stuck through the middle with a sword than any other reason. He felt a brief flash of panic wash over him – the Boss wouldn’t be able to help him bring the Chief back under control – before he steeled his will and looked back up at the Chief’s broad, scarred back.

It seemed hopeless, he looked about the battle once more, looking for something – anything – that could help him.

His eyes fell upon Tamassran.

The qunari woman was being held at crossbow point by Varric, and was calmly regarding Bull’s actions with something that was almost remorse. Krem snarled, sword out, and stormed forward.

“Get his attention,” He commanded of the woman.

She barked out a mirthless laugh, “With his little cat dying on the ground?” She shook her head, “He is beyond us all.”

Something cold gripped Krem’s heart, “I don’t believe that,” He said, “Call out to him, make him stop.”

A smile, broken and satisfied, curled the qunari’s mouth, “The only person here who could make him stop lies dying at his feet,” She said, “He is lost to us. He is Tal Vashoth.”

The words hit Krem like a physical blow. He’d heard the Chief explain before, of course he had, that Vashoth meant grey but Tal Vashoth meant _mad_ and that one didn’t imply the other. About how qunari outside the qun were driven mad by the lack of guidance they received, how their lives were thrown into confusion unless they had something to guide them.

“It’s a suicide play,” Varric said very quietly to the qunari, “Isn’t it? You couldn’t turn him so you’re getting him to kill you instead. None of us are strong enough to stop Tiny if he doesn’t want to be stopped.”

Krem felt a low, burning anger beginning to build in the bottom of his stomach. _How dare they._

He looked over at the Chief, where blood was dripping down his arms as he straightened, and turned. His eye was dark with rage, face almost unrecognisable for the man that Krem knew he was. He was huge, horns spread out either side of his head like a demon, scars shining white on his grey skin.

“He was always a blunt weapon,” Tama said behind him, “But a weapon all the same.” Her tone was bitter, broken, “Run, little Aqun Athlok. Run, or he’ll kill you too.”

Krem stepped in front of Tamassran and faced Bull, bringing up his sword, “I won’t let you turn him into a monster,” He spat over his shoulder, before setting himself into a defender’s stance.

The Chief growled low in the back of his throat, towering above him.

Krem had a flash, then, of Bull holding the Boss up by her neck, as casually as a ragdoll, of him tossing her to the ground. He swallowed, set his feet into the ground, adjusted his grip on his sword.

“Chief!” He called, “All due respect, but just _what the fuck are you doing?_ ”

The Chief grunted, low and deep in the back of his throat, eye snapping to Krem’s face.

“You gonna stop me, Aclassi?”

Krem was not too proud to admit that he was afraid. He was facing his best friend, protecting someone who he’d really rather was dead in order to save his friend from himself. It was this thought that made him stay where he stood, made him hold his sword a little bit tighter and stare the Iron Bull down.

“I’m gonna try.”

“Don’t get in my way, Krem,” Bull said, “You won’t like what happens if you do.”

The darkness in Bull’s eye was all rage and pain and despair. Krem knew he couldn’t take Bull in a fight, was pretty sure he didn’t know anyone who could, but he also knew that he owed it to the Chief to _try_ and bring him back from whatever madness was gripping him.

Bull set his shoulders like he was preparing to charge.

Krem stood his ground. “It’s not going to stop her dying, Chief,” He said, trying to ignore the way his voice wavered, “It’s not gonna bring her back to life if she does die.”

Bull faltered.

It was a small thing, a shiver of pain that rippled over his skin. Something Krem only saw because he was desperately, desperately looking for it.

“Don’t do this, Chief,” He begged.

“They deserve to die.”

There was a blackness to the words, an aching hunger, but it was tempered with loss, with regret.

“No-one’s arguing that,” Krem said, taking a chance and lowering his sword tip, “If I didn’t think you’d hate yourself for this, I’d let you have at it all you wanted.” He took a step forward, “But I know you, Chief. The Iron Bull wouldn’t do this.”

Bull’s mouth spasmed, “They _hurt_ her.”

“I know, Chief!” Krem let his sword clatter to the ground, spread his arms wide on either side of him, “Maker’s hairy balls I know. I wanted to kill them when I thought you were dead. We all did, every Charger to a man wanted to get revenge for the death of their Chief. But do you really think the Boss’d want you to do this for _that_ piece of shit? Really?”

The Chief’s eye closed, before it snapped open again, still regarding Krem with a mix of pain and fury.

“I don’t know half of what’s going on,” Krem said, taking another step forward, “You know I’m no good at this back and forth bullshit. I don’t know what Hissrad would do or Ashkaari or whatever other names you’ve got would do. But I do know the Iron Fucking Bull would stop. He’d stop now before anyone else got hurt, before he hurt anyone else.”

Bull lowered his hands. His shoulders slumped, he looked behind himself to where the Boss lay dying on the ground.

“Give me your sword, Krem,” He said it quietly, over his shoulder, still looking in the Boss’ direction.

“Really, Chief? You think I’m gonna do that just after I saw you beat a man to death with your hands?”

Bull looked back.

His expression was still one of grief and pain, but the maddened hatred was gone, replaced with something that looked almost broken.

“You said the Iron Bull would stop,” The Chief said, “Let’s test your theory.”

Trepidation in his gut, Krem bent down and picked up his sword, before holding it – hilt first – to Bull.

The Chief took it, it was almost dwarfed by his hands, before he strode up to where Tama and Gatt stood, held there by Cole and Varric.

The Chief looked down at the qunari in front of him, deliberately holding Tamassran’s gaze with his own. Then, he took Krem’s sword and rested the tip of it against the woman’s collarbone, with enough pressure that a bright spot of blood beaded at the tip.

Krem held his breath, but found he couldn’t look away from the sight, even as he felt something passing, something he didn’t fully understand.

Tamassran sucked in a breath, and let out a shuddering exhale. She looked away from the exchange first.

Bull let the sword clatter to the ground.

“Let ‘em go,” He said, turning away, “They need to report back to Par Vollen that they’ve failed, and holding them’s just gonna get Qunandar pissed at the Inquisition.”

“If you think I’m going to –” Varric started, but the Chief cut him off with a glare.

“They know they’ve lost,” He said, hands balling into fists by his side, even still covered as they were with blood, “Cut ‘em loose. They can’t do any more damage.”

“It would be kinder to kill us, Ashkaari,” Tamassran said, voice barely more than a whisper.

The Chief let out a bitter breath of laughter, “I know. That’s why I’m not doing it,” He looked over at Krem, then back towards the ground where the Boss lay, “You can explain to the Ben Hassrath how you’ve failed here, Tama, or run and hope they never catch you. I don’t fucking care anymore.”

That said, he walked over to the Boss’ prone form, lowered his bulk to the ground next to her and didn’t say anything more.

Krem looked over at Cole and Varric, then at their prisoners, then at the unconscious forms of his friends scattered throughout the clearing.

“You heard the man,” He said at last, “Let ‘em go.”

\---

Stitches got the smelling salts first.

The healer came awake, coughing and spluttering, and with an apologetic word, Krem sent him straight to the Boss on what was possibly a fool’s errand. The Chief refused to be moved from the elf’s side, but Stitches merely shook his head at that and started moving around him instead, checking the collapsed form for a pulse and shouting in joy when he found one. “It’s thready,” The healer said, “And weak, but I’ve worked with worse before. Could use some help, though.”

So it was Dalish who was revived next.

She, too, was pressed into service as a healer, given one of the few remaining lyrium potions and then immediately sent to help Stitches – for once without a single word of protest about her magical state. A green light spilled from her hands the moment she reached the Boss, pooling around the other elf, focusing on where the sword pierced her through.

Krem watched this for a moment, worry in his gut, before he turned back to his task. Each of the other Chargers was roused and assessed in turn, those who could were set to work – pained and sorry for themselves but thankfully, _thankfully_ , alive, Krem ordered his walking wounded to re-set the camp as much as they were able.

No-one commented on the fact that the Chief hadn’t moved from the Boss’ side.

No-one tried to make him help, either.

Around midday, a horn sounded, one that Krem recognised and one that lifted his heart.  He staggered to his feet, away from where he was finishing up a dressing on Rocky’s arm and turned towards the source of the sound, holding a hand out to the dwarf when he looked like he might go for his weapon. The horses that burst through the trees were a warming sight – dressed in Inquisition livery and led by Scout Harding, they surrounded the camp before the riders dismounted. Horses meant fresh supplies and fresh faces, and it was with eagerness that the Inquisition soldiers set about helping the wounded Chargers.

Harding dismounted from her horse (one that was much smaller than the others, but just as swift) and nodded to one of the men with her, who released the crow from his arm. Then, she nodded to Krem and turned, taking in the camp at a glance. “What happened here?”

Krem, suddenly exhausted, merely nodded towards the Inquisitor.

Harding followed his gaze, then stiffened, a stream of expletives erupting from her mouth that in any other situation would have been funny. She was almost stark white, her face a mask of horror as she looked at the prone form on the ground then back to Krem.

So Krem set about explaining as best he could, ignoring the way the Chief’s bleak eyes would flick to him every so often as he spoke. By the time he finished explaining, Harding, if it were possible, had gone even paler, but whatever reply she would have made was lost in the sound of a sudden whimper from the Boss.

She moved, slightly, on the ground, The Chief stilled completely, head tracking her movement like a mabari as her hand stretched out on the ground and her eyes flickered open.

“Bull?” Her voice was a dry, glassy whisper, and the Chief’s hand was suddenly on her shoulder, holding her still, even as her hands tried to find purchase on the ground beneath her.

“I’m here,” The Chief said, in a pained voice, “You’re alright, I’m here.”

“Hurts,” She said, last letter turning into a quiet hiss.

“I know,” He said, hand coming to cup the Inquisitor’s face, but looking up to Dalish and Stitches. Dalish said nothing, but Stitches shook his head minutely. The Chief’s mouth tightened, “Just a bit longer, okay?”

Harding’s hand found its’ way to Krem’s arm and he looked down at the dwarf. “Did you bring any healers with you?” He asked in an undertone, “Dalish is nearly spent.”

“Couldn’t spare any,” The scout replied, “Didn’t think we were going to need them.”

Krem swore under his breath.

“The sword needs to stay in, the sword needs to come out,” Cole slipped up to Krem’s side, hands wringing together, Varric a step behind him, “She can do it, if she does it.”

The Boss let out a whimper and squirmed against the hands holding her still. “Hurts,” She said again, trying to get free of Bull’s hold, “Bull – _Hurts._ ”

“I know. You need to stay still, okay?”

Stitches grunted, looking at the Boss, the Chief and Dalish in quick succession. “I need to pull the damn thing out; she’s not going to get any better with it in.” He scowled, hands coming to the hilt of the blade, looking up at Dalish and ignoring the way that Bull tensed. Harding took a half step forward, Krem tightened his grip on her arm.

Stitches hesitated, looking up at the Chief once more.

“Do it, I’ve got her.”

“No, wait -!”

Harding’s protest was lost in the sudden, agonised scream that the Inquisitor gave. The elf went rigid, legs and arms flailing weakly as the Chief held her mercilessly in place. The light spilling from Dalish’s hands tripled in intensity – the clearing flared green and bright, static crawled up Krem’s arms leaving gooseflesh in its’ wake. Stitches wrenched backward on the sword, it slid out by inches, blood suddenly seeping from the wound and staining the snow beneath the elf a vivid crimson.

The Boss’ cry cut off suddenly as her body went limp. The clearing echoed with sudden silence, Krem’s heart stuck in his throat as he nearly took a step forward as well. The Chief was suddenly tense and still as death, even as the sword slid fully out of the small elf, trailing blood in its wake.

Stitches moved forward again, glancing at Dalish who was still pouring green magic into the woman on the ground.

“She’s still alive,” Dalish said, almost absently, “Just passed out for the time being. Let me concentrate, would you?”

A few minutes more passed in terse silence, Krem feeling as useless as he’d ever felt, Stitches leaving the Inquisitor to Dalish’s care and moving to help the other injured members of the Chargers instead.

Pale, Harding stepped towards the form on the ground, this time Krem let her as Dalish stepped up and away, wobbling slightly on unsteady legs and wiping sweat from her brow.

“She will be fine once we get her back to Skyhold and into proper care – sore and very sorry for herself I imagine, but fine.”

Harding swallowed and nodded, even as relief crashed over Krem like a wave, encompassing him so much that he nearly missed the dwarf say to the elf, “We didn’t know that there was a mage on the Chargers.”

Dalish blinked down at the dwarf, then gave a tired smile. “Now, I’m not a mage,” She said, “I’m not an apostate. That was just an old elven trick.”

“It looked an awful lot like magic,” Harding said, looking nonplussed.

Varric let out a weary chuckle, moving away from Cole to slap the other dwarf firmly on the shoulder. “Harding, you’ll find that a lot of things aren’t what they look like,” He said, “Take you, for instance. Now are we going to stand around here talking, or are we going to get the Inquisitor home?”

 _Home_ , thought Krem.

He hadn’t heard a better idea all day.

\---

They set off to Skyhold, the Inquisitor lying on a cot held by two Inquisition soldiers, unconscious and unmoving, white linen wrapped about her middle. Bull walked next to her, silent and seeming to make significantly less noise and take up less space than a man of his size and bulk should. Something about him was diminished, tied to the tiny rise and fall of the Inquisitor’s chest, the pull of her breath the only thing that betrayed her as more than a pale, small statue slung between the soldiers that moved her.

The rest of the Chargers limped along behind the Inquisition troop, Dalish being held up by Skinner, the two elves looking sore and sorry. Grim said nothing as they walked, and for once neither did Rocky or Stitches either, the party reflecting the mood of their Chief. Behind them came Varric and Cole, the two were the freshest of the travellers, though Varric kept his crossbow coked at his him and a weather eye out behind them because although Tamassran and Gatt had disappeared the moment they’d been freed, neither Varric nor Krem trusted that they wouldn’t return, despite Cole’s quiet insistence that they would no longer do any harm.

It was a quiet party that walked through dusk and into the falling night, then lit torches and kept marching on till well past midnight. No-one wished to stop to rest, even as weary as they were, with the Boss rising and fading on the whim of the breeze that whipped their hair, and the Chief’s mood as bleak as it was. Dawn was just beginning to break when they finally passed out of the forest and onto the mountain path that led them to Skyhold, and by the time they climbed to the hold and passed through its’ old portcullis, people were just starting to prepare their morning meals.

The Inquisitor was whisked away by healers the moment they arrived, and the Chief, looking a little lost, retreated to the keep before anyone was able to stop him. Krem and the Chargers turned to follow, but before they could, a hand on Krem’s arm stopped him.

He turned.

“The parting shot was the most painful,” Cole said, hand withdrawing and spasming slightly, fingers curling over each other in distressed fidgets, “You can help.”

The spirit tucked a hand into the pocket of his breeches and pulled something out, pressing it into Krem’s hand before the other man could make comment. Krem frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then blinked.

He stood in the yard a long moment, trying to remember who it was he wanted to say something to, and what it was he wanted to say. Then he looked down at the object in his hand, sighed, and went to find the Chief.

He was exhausted, and the last thing he wanted to do was look, but there was something pushing him, something that wouldn’t let him rest until this last job was done. So he checked the Chief’s frequent haunts and failing to find him in the Herald’s Rest, or in the armoury, or near the deserted training yards, Krem moved up to the high, cold parapets and began to walk along them.

About halfway around he found the man, sitting on a crate with his head in his hands.

“Chief.”

Bull didn’t look up, didn’t seem to react to Krem’s presence at all. Krem took a few steps closer, then hesitated.

The blood was gone from the Chief’s hands, not even a fleck of it remained under his nails, and his hands and arms looked like they’d been scrubbed nearly raw, scars shining pink in the cold light. The Chief, too, was clean. Fresh clothes, fresh leather armour, even wearing one of his spare eyepatches where Krem could see the leather peeking out from under his broad hands.

Still dirty and stinking from travel, Krem felt himself stall a little, unsure if he should step forward or turn to walk away.

Bull made the decision for him.

“What do you do without re-educators, Krem-de-la-Crème?”

The Chief’s voice was almost conversational, detached, distant. He hadn’t moved, though, head still in his hands, legs spread, crate creaking ominously underneath him.

“What do you mean?” Krem asked carefully, even as he moved to lean against the wall next to the Chief.

“This is the part where I submit myself for re-education because I’m broke as _fuck_ , only there’s no fucking re-educators to submit myself to.”

A shiver went up Krem’s spine and he looked down at the top of the Chief’s head. His arms came around himself in an action that was more for his own reassurance than folding them over his chest. The Chief didn’t speak about Qunandar. He just didn’t. The Chargers all knew, of course they did, that the Chief’s life had always been a little different than theirs, but they all assumed with the same detached indifference that he’d mostly react the way they would in any given situation.

But different cultures always had different coping mechanisms, and the Chief – no longer a member of the qunari – seemed to now be at a loss of what to _do._

Krem opened his mouth to try and reply, found he didn’t know what to say.

The Chief looked up. His eye was like a chip of ice in his face, expression hidden behind a mask that was as perfectly blank as any Krem had ever seen.

“What do you _do_ , Krem?”

This was not something Krem knew how to handle. He knew the Chief as the one who guided, not the one who needed guidance. He knew the Chief as the one who taught and not the one who needed teaching. He swallowed, sucked in a breath through his nose and straightened away from the wall, falling to his best soldier’s pose and forcing his hands to fall to his side.

“You get over it,” He said, though not unkindly.  “You’re not the first person to fuck up, Chief.”

To someone who was from Tevinter, Krem realised, he would have suggested wine. Someone from Orlais would need an ear to listen to their troubles. A Ferelden would need something different again, probably a dog, maybe some of that damn awful broth they called stew. But the Chief, the Chief needed someone to tell him that this wasn’t something he could hang as a millstone about his neck.

“She nearly died,” The Chief protested, “She might still. All because I thought I was clever enough to take on Tama.”

“Still not the first person to fuck up, Chief.” Krem raised his shoulders in a shrug, “Not even the first to fuck up that badly.”

He dropped his hand to the qunari’s broad shoulder, “If you’re asking me for advice, I’d say you need to learn from this and get better. Don’t be such an idiot next time and _Maker’s balls_ don’t your fucking dare try to pin any of the shit that went down on yourself.”

“I should’ve –” Bull started.

“Yeah,” Krem cut him off, “You probably should. But you know what else, Tamassran _shouldn’t’ve._ ”

The vehemency that rose up in Krem was sudden and strong. The woman had hurt his best friend, the man who took him in after his country threw him out, the man who gave up his eye for a stranger in trouble. The man who didn’t know how to fit in at home and was still learning how to fit in here. And she’d tried to destroy what he’d made for himself. Tried to break him so that she could make him _fit_.

Krem’s rage was a hot and fast thing that he hadn’t let himself feel until now, and it latched into him like a burr, left the Chief staring at him in surprise.

Krem let out an angry grunt, “You fucked up and gave her the opportunity, sure. But from where I’m standing you’re not the one who messed with your head or who was going to break you and turn you on the Boss. You’re not the one who betrayed a lifelong relationship in the name of some stupid scheme that didn’t even _Maker’s damned work!_ ”

“It’s not like that,”

“ _Why_ are you defending her?”

The Chief looked bleakly up at him. “I’m not,” He said, tone frank, “It’s different the way qunari are and everyone else is. She was just doing what was expected of her.”

“Well, stop me if I don’t jump to forgive her, Chief.”

Something that was almost a smile tugged at the corners of Bull’s lips before his face settled back into that carefully blank mask. “There’s a reason I’m Tal Vashoth, Krem. Qunari get told their duty and they do it. Anything that gets in the way of that duty is the shit that makes you Tal Vashoth, makes you break. The re-educators exist to fix you when you break, so you can do better next time.”

The way the Chief said it, it was almost a childish mantra, the stuff that forms the basis of doctrine. With a jolt, Krem realised that’s precisely what it was.

The Chief sighed, “Tama – she…” He shook his head, took a moment to gather his thoughts, fingers drumming on his knees, “She had two re-educators with her, Krem. You think they were just for decoration?”

“They were for you.”

The Chief gave a bitter chuckle, hanging his head a moment before he leant back against the wall behind him, “Tama was for me,” He said, bluntly, “The re-educators were for her.”

Krem started, the Chief ran a hand over his face, giving Krem a weak, sidelong smirk. “’I have to fix my mistakes,’” He said, voice strangely singsong, like he was quoting a mantra, “She said that, so did Gatt. Who said I was dead first, the Inquisitor or Tama?”

Krem frowned, “The Inquisitor didn’t say it at all,” He told the Chief, unnerved, “It was Tamassran.”

Bull’s smile was weak and a little odd. The whole conversation was odd, like the Chief was talking from some place so far away from Krem as to be unreachable. “They’d been in her head. They’d been in my head. They’d been in Gatt’s head.” He let out an explosive sigh, “My Tama was happy for me when I left the qun, according to Cole. She would’ve never agreed to bring me back unless something was making her do it.” He looked up at Krem, “I failed her.”

Realisation slammed into Krem so violently he almost staggered, “That’s what this whole thing was about. You went to them because you wanted to _save_ them.”

“Well, I wanted to save Gatt, really. Then when I saw Tama -" He hesitated, sighed, "I failed,” The Chief looked down at his hand, then, it flexed on his knee, “And I nearly got the Boss killed. And they fucked with my head so bad I don’t know if they’ve still got a hold on me or if I can walk away free from this. An all-around amazing performance.” He grunted, “ _Fuck._ ”

“Did you know that they would stab the Boss?” Krem couldn’t keep the accusatory tone out of his voice, he found that he didn’t really want to.

“Not stab,” The Chief said, “No. Grab her, maybe. Try and force the qamek on her, sure. But not what that little shit did. And I didn’t think I’d react to it like _that._ ” His hands clenched on his knees, as he closed his eyes and let out a long breath of air, “And this is the bit where if I was in qunandar, I’d get my ass to the re-educators as fast as I could possibly move. Shit, I need a drink.”

“No,” Krem couldn’t keep the coldness out of his voice, “You need to speak to the Boss.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the heavy weight that rested there and tossed it to the Chief who caught it on reflex.

“While you’re at it,” He said, trying very hard to keep a lid on his temper, “You might want to ask her about that.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving the Chief to stare, dumbfounded, at the dragon’s tooth in his hand.


	17. Chapter 17

She was drifting.

She found that she wasn’t that disturbed by this as she felt the world around her starting to shift. It was warm and dark, pain lingered only like a dull and distant memory, and she felt safe amongst the softness that surrounded her. She was comfortable, she was exhausted, all she wanted to do was sleep – to ignore the incessant insistence of her mind to even this low level of consciousness.

But pull at her, her mind did, so she let the heaviness of her body and eyelids be and focused instead on what could have tugged at her attention.

Voices, above her, familiar and far away. They echoed through her head almost more as nonsense than words, even as they snapped at each other in a disharmonious accompaniment to her lassitude.

“While her actions may have been foolish, they were a direct result of _yours_ ,” Snapped a soft songbird, more attuned to singing than shouting.

(She must have been on excellent pain medication, part of her noted, with how much she was sounding like _Cole._ )

“As much as you’re looking to place blame, Spymaster,” Another voice replied, “I told her not to come with me.”

“You failed to tell her to refrain from following you,” The first shot back, “If you were so attuned to what was happening, you would have–”

“Told her I was bait to get her?” The second voice cut over the first, gruff and lovely, sounding all too patient as a counterpoint against the first’s annoyance. She tried to smile, though the muscles in her mouth were too heavy, “Even if I’d worked that out straight away like I damn well should, I doubt _telling_ her that would’ve stopped her from following. You know her, Nightingale, you know what she’s like.”

“She was nearly killed, Bull,” The first voice argued, too sweet to be shrill, but angry all the same, “She chose to follow you over her duties to the Inquisition. Our mutual friend–”

“Just call him what he is, Red. His title doesn’t change out of polite company.”

There was a sigh, equal parts impatient and exasperated, “The _Arishok_ , then, is denying qunari involvement, claiming he had no knowledge of the incident.”

There was a hesitation on the air, then, and she tried to wake herself further through the sleepy fog of exhaustion. This was important, she knew, this hesitation. She willed her hand to move, to reach out in the direction of the rough, lovely voice, to offer comfort –

Her hand stayed on the bedsheets.

There was a shudder in the voice when it started talking again, “Which is it, Red? Did he deny knowledge or involvement?”

“Does it matter?”

“They’re different things,” The voice cracked, just a fraction, before strengthening again, “If he said he had no involvement, it’s because it was the ben hassrath acting. If he said he has no knowledge, then Tama’s been deemed–”

An exasperated exclamation interrupted him, “For the sake of the Maker, Iron Bull, you will choose a loyalty! You cannot be both qunari _and_ tal vashoth! Accept that your old life – and the people in it – are lost to you, or go back to qunandar!”

“I’m here, Red,” The male voice contained a low hint of warning, “That should tell you all you need to know about my loyalties.”

A derisive snort met this statement, “If you’d left them behind, they never would have been able to take you,” She felt a small spur of anger within her, but it still wasn’t enough to come fully awake, to demand that her spymaster stop this attack, “Your continued insistence to denial of the fact that you _are what you are_ will have direct consequences on the Inquisition and the Inquisitor.”

“Don’t threaten me, Red,” Said the male voice, dipping dangerously, “It won’t work out the way you want it to.”

“I’m not threatening,” Said the first voice, “I am telling you that your actions are hurting a friend of mine who cares for you. If you continue to waver over who you are, I will decide for you – with a blade in the dark if I must.”

“She’ll hate you.”

“I would rather her hatred than her death.”

 _No,_ She thought, _No, don’t you dare,_ but even as she struggled to wake further, to force herself into this argument, the dark started pulling her deeper, wrapping her with sleepy warmth that blurred her thoughts and dulled the sounds of the two voices.

She slipped back into the darkness, the conversation fading away like a breeze.

\---

The second time the Inquisitor came awake, it was more like a slow rise from the depths of a warm lake. First came sounds, the steady susurrus of background conversations that marked life at Skyhold, followed by the undertones of birdsong and the familiar clash of swords from a training ring not too far away.

Next, came a feeling of weight – a stiffness in her limbs and the too-great downward press of gravity that spoke of a bone-deep exhaustion. It was almost enough to make her want to ignore the world and retreat to sleep once more, but now that consciousness properly gripped her, it seemed loathe to let her out of its hold.

So she dragged her eyes open.

Rough-hewn stone walls and exposed beams of dark wood greeted her, lit with a cherry-coloured glow from a fire crackling somewhere nearby.

“Good afternoon,” Said a voice, somewhat delicately, somewhere to her left.

The Inquisitor was too tired to wince, so she instead tilted her head and regarded her spymaster where she was seated primly to the left of the bed. Leliana was somehow managing, without outwardly expressing it at all, to radiate disapproval on a level that even Madam De Fer would have been proud of.  Her eyes were cold, hands folded in her lap, hair doing nothing to soften the usually gentle curves of her face that somehow appeared more like marble in the fire’s glow than skin.

The Inquisitor tried to say something, it came out as a groan.

“What part,” Said Leliana, in a dangerously polite tone, “Of ‘stay put and let the Chargers deal with this’ translated in your head to sneaking out of Skyhold like a thief in the night to go out and have yourself _stabbed_?”

“The stabbing wasn’t on purpose,” The Inquisitor protested in a weak croak.

The look that Leliana shot her was flat and unimpressed.

“I also expected it to hurt a lot more,” The Inquisitor said, because the thought had just occurred to her, “The stabbing part, I mean.”

“You are on some _excellent_ herbs for the pain,” Leliana told her primly, “The poor healers have depleted our reserves somewhat significantly in trying to keep you alive. You should thank them when you have the chance.”

“I’ll replace their stores when the weather warms a little.”

“Not until you’re healed.”

The Inquisitor frowned at that, tried to form some sort of protest, but couldn’t. Instead, she met Leliana’s eyes (and the disapproval within them) and said, “I don’t regret going.”

“I know you don’t,” Said the spymaster, “It is part of what makes this so infuriating.” She sighed, “I am glad you found your Bull, Inquisitor, but next time I would strongly appreciate it if you took the advice of those who have a vested interest in keeping you alive.”

“I didn’t _die_ ” The Inquisitor protested in what she considered to be a reasonable, if somewhat slurred, tone.

“Through sheer dumb luck,” The spymaster retorted, “You were stabbed through the stomach, Inquisitor – infection should have killed you if nothing else.”

“Should’ve isn’t did.” Lavellan said mulishly.

Leliana sighed. It was a patient sound, a sound that spoke of years of practice in reigning in her temper in the face of other people’s stupidity.

“You will be wishing the wound had succeeded when the herbs wear off, Inquisitor, but for now that isn’t your greatest concern.”

Lavellan blinked.

Leliana pressed a hand to her forehead, “There are some who have been using your absence to vie for power in the courts – Josephine has been doing her best to put out fires, but you need to be an active presence again soon or the power you have will fade in the wake of bickering between opposing factions. You need to be present again, sooner rather than later, convalescing or not, so that you can bring an element of control to this rabble.”

Lavellan’s eyes slid out of focus, she felt herself frown. “That’s an awful lot of big words,” She said.

She heard Leliana’s exasperated sigh as if followed her back down into unconsciousness.

\---

“You’re gonna have one hell of an impressive scar.”

Varric had been sitting in with the Inquisitor for about an hour, pilfering food from the platter that had been left by her bedside and so thoroughly monopolising her time, that Lavellan was sure she was going to have to send several vastly apologetic letters to the string of nobles that had been attempting to visit her.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to mind.

She was well into the second day of her rehabilitation, and Leliana had been right about the pain relief. Dulled as it was by elfroot balm, it still throbbed low and deep inside her – a line of pain that started on one side of her body and went the whole way through to the other. The healers had given her tinctures and potions that had tasted about as awful as they had smelt and had ordered her to bedrest and limited movement until the wound had somewhat healed.

Lavellan didn’t do well with stillness.

Leliana had verbally lashed her for the better part of two rings of the morning bell when she’d come in and found Lavellan struggling to get out of bed, threatening her with visiting nobles and reduced pain medication alike as she forcibly made the small elf lie down once more. In her pique, the spymaster had let slip that the healer had also found a crack in Lavellan’s skull, and the Inquisitor nearly sent the spymaster into a second rant at this information, when she’d made a soft sound of realisation and commented that the fact explained the concussion nicely.

Varric, however, was much less… concerned… company.

When he’d entered and found the Inquisitor looking thoughtfully at the floor and the door he’d merely chuckled and taken Leliana’s abandoned seat and begun to tell tales about Hawke and how bad _she’d_ been at convalescing as well. They’d been tales designed to distract the Inquisitor, most certainly, but she found she didn’t mind so much as they became less about sick beds and more about the adventures that had caused those sick beds, and had eventually spun into the ending of Swords and Shields (Only, of course, after invoking a sworn oath that Lavellan not tell Cassandra – though holding the knowledge over the Divine was absolutely acceptable). Varric had started to keep her company in a way that almost, _almost,_ made her forget that Bull hadn’t yet been in to see her – not while she’d been conscious, at least.

“They should have left the sword in,” The Inquisitor told Varric, smiling so he could see it was mere morbid humour and not a death wish, “I could’ve claimed it was a piercing.”

“Start of an Orlesian trend, that,” Varric said, smirking, “Shit, they’ve done stranger things for fashion in the past.”

“Did you hear about the one for live birds in a courtier’s hair?”

“Yeah, that one actually made it as far as Kirkwall,” The dwarf said, folding his arms across his chest, “Didn’t do much – just got crap everywhere. A sword in your gut, though? Whip it out if someone pisses you off – wouldn’t even need a sheath.”

She snorted, then winced, hand coming to her side when pain shot through it. “Oh, don’t make me laugh, Varric, my seams are fragile at the moment.”

“Shit, Lilac, sorry.” He paused and reached out, patting her hand with his own, “I’m just glad you’re okay. Ish.”

She gave a wry grin at the last comment, and the two of them fell quiet once more, the Inquisitor looking out of the small window of the Surgery.

It was a cruel sort of irony that the surgery looked out over the Herald’s Rest, thought the Inquisitor, even as Varric followed her gaze and his hand squeezed hers lightly.

“Varric?”

He hummed to show he was listening,

“Why do you think he hasn’t come to visit?”

The dwarf swore.

“Lilac, don’t think about it, okay? Tiny’s just got some crap of his own to deal with. He’s just sorting it out before he comes to you.”

Lavellan frowned and didn’t reply.

“Besides,” Varric said, trying again, “Dennet told me to tell you that Kai wandered in this morning, easy as you please. Bit the stable boy and kicked Curly’s big bay mare. Took three people to get him into a stall and stripped of his gear.”

“That sounds suspiciously like it’s meant to distract me,” Lavellan said, still looking out the window.

“Because it is,” Varric said, before he sighed and sobered, “Still, probably best to be thinking about something else, Lilac. That shit you and Tiny went through would mess with anyone. Maker’s ass, it’s messing with me and I was just on the periphery. Tiny just needs space is all, he’ll come when he’s ready.”

“What if he doesn’t realise he has to come at all?”

Varric gave a troubled frown and didn’t answer that.

\---

In the end - and in her normal, stubborn, fashion – Lavellan decided that if Bull wasn’t going to come to her, she’d just have to go to him.

She would wait, she thought, until the healer had gone to bed, until the fire in her room had nearly died, and then she would stray out into the night and find him. Corner him, if she had to. She set her mind on this plan of attack, grit her teeth through visits by dignitaries who were more curious than well-wishing and tried to build up as much strength as she could.

It was almost with a sense of triumph that, after the surgeon had turned in for the night and she could hear the faint sounds of her snoring from the other chamber, she carefully levered herself up from the bed, ignoring the pull from her side as she slipped her feet to the ground and pulled on the tunic top that rested on the chair next to her cot.

Then with a concentrated effort, and a gasp stifled behind clenched teeth, she struggled her way to her feet.

For a moment, she teetered dangerously as the world spun around her. Her blood tried to rush from her head all at once and she had a feeling that the world wasn’t supposed to sway the way it was. She steadied herself with a hand against the wall, gulped in some air and took a small, shuffling step forward.

When this didn’t make her pass out, she grimaced and took another step, and then another and another, and started the slow, painful process to the door of the infirmary.

It took her an embarrassingly long time to get there.

Once at the door, she took a moment to lean against the wall and reach up to wipe the sweat off her brow, aware that she was shaking and that her breathing was coming in quick, shallow pants.

“This may be one of the most idiotic fool’s errands I’ve ever embarked upon,” She muttered to herself, even as she shook her head. She winced, pressed her hand to her side as the world spun from the movement and had to spend a minute steadying herself once more.

Finally, and with no small amount of effort, she pushed herself off the wall and managed to try the door.

Her shaking hands hindered the process for a moment, but eventually the door swung free and she stepped out into air that was cool with spring against the sweat that drenched her.

Somewhere on the air, she could hear drunken singing, but otherwise the hold was silent with the night, everyone having retired, even the ramparts hosting only a skeleton guard, much too far away and probably unconcerned with her movement across the yard. The air was cold and sweet, there was a smell of flowers on the air that hinted at the first signs of summer, and somewhere an owl protested her presence with a soft hoot.

She smiled, then set her jaw, and began to slowly shuffle forward.

By the time she was a quarter of the way across the yard, each step felt like a knife being driven into her stomach. She gasped at the pain and kept her gaze forward, on the door of the Herald’s Rest, that had always seemed so _close_ when she was able to move freely. By the time she made it halfway, her chest felt as if it were on fire, and the pain was expanding so that it filled most of her senses, each step bringing white sparks behind her eyes, each breath finding new and interesting ways to remind her that she’d had a sword through her only days ago. Her steps slowed to a shuffle, and it occurred to her suddenly that she wasn’t sure she had the energy to go back to her bed, let alone make it to the door that taunted her at the other end of the yard.

The door that slammed open.

She looked up as a large shape blocked the light from the tavern behind it, before hurrying across the grounds to where she stood, swaying. The shape reached her just in time to catch her as she started to fall.

The scent of oil and leather and sundrenched skin surrounded her, she was gripped in an embrace made of warm, firm arms, and there was a wispy voice frantically speaking at the edge of her hearing.

“I got her, Cole. I got her.”

She was scooped up and pressed against something warm, a large hand tucked her head against a strong shoulder. She was enveloped in comfort, in familiarity.

She let herself pass out.

\---

She woke up in a bed that was nearly as big as her own in Skyhold’s loft, then groaned and tried to curl around the burning pain in her gut.

“No you don’t,” A large hand was suddenly on her shoulder, holding her still, “Not until the healer gets here.”

She made an unhappy noise in the back of her throat and weakly tried to reach up and batt the hand away.

Her arm was caught mid-air and pressed down to the bed.

“Stop.”

She stilled on instinct.

Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes open, only to be met with an angry glare from a storm-green eye set into a stern, cragged face. She didn’t groan, it would’ve hurt too much, instead she looked away from Bull’s accusing visage to the far wall.

“How far did I get?” She asked, forcing down the burning pain through willpower alone.

“Two thirds of the way across the training yard,” Bull told her, voice like ice, “And nearly reopened your damn gut as you did it. If Cole hadn’t come to get me –”

He stopped speaking.

She looked back to him.

He looked like he was visibly trying to get a hold on his anger, he was stooped in his chair, head bowed, shoulders hunched, hands clenching and unclenching where they rested between his knees.

“Don’t do it again,” He said at last.

“What was I supposed to do, Bull?” She snapped, suddenly angry and ignoring the pain in her gut as she tried to sit up. He was on her in a moment, forcing her back down to the bed, holding her as she struggled far too weakly against him, “Let me go, _damn it Bull, let me go,_ ” She snarled at him, tried to move, even as he held her in place like it was taking him no effort, “Oh for - _Katoh._ ”

He let go, hands coming up and off her, and she painfully struggled up to a sitting position so she could meet his furious, mulish gaze.

“That’s not what that’s for.”

“Well,” She said, “You weren’t letting go and _by the Creators_ you weren’t going to come to me.”

“And running across Skyhold with half your damn stomach open was your solution to that?” He glared at her, “ _Shit,_ Kadan!”

“If you weren’t being such a _coward_ , maybe I wouldn’t have –”

She froze, her angry retort dying on her tongue. Shock rolled through her, and she turned wide, owlish eyes to Bull suddenly, not quite believing what he’d just said.

“What did you just call me?”

Her words came out strangled by her heart, which was firmly lodged in her throat. Something cracked through the anger on Bull’s face then, something that was almost like pain tangled with confusion. His left hand reached to a table next to his bed, picking up a token from it that Lavellan hadn’t seen until that point.

He slowly showed it to her.

“I called you Kadan,” He said quietly, as she looked at the dragon’s tooth resting in his hand, “Because that’s what you are, aren’t you?”

“Oh,” She said, heart plummeting as she slumped slightly, then winced, arms coming around her, “I see.”

“Krem gave it to me,” Bull said, “Told me to ask you about it. But hell, it’s pretty obvious what Tama took from me just from this.”

Lavellan looked at her hands. “I’m not going to hold you to anything, Bull.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” The qunari replied, “But see, the thing is, _this isn’t mine._ ”

She looked up, suddenly ready to argue, even over the ache that was settling into her heart, to see a peculiar expression on his face. She stilled.

“Mine,” Said Bull, looking at the tooth that he was now dangling from its’ leather strap, “Has a hairline crack that runs from the top to the middle. It’s been rubbed smooth on one edge where it rests against my back when I’m not using my sword. There’s a tiny burn between the filigree up near its’ eye and it’s chipped slightly on the edge near the bottom.” He looked at her, “It also faces the other way, but I don’t think that’s something that would convince you that I know this one isn’t mine.”

Lavellan didn’t move, almost didn’t dare breathe, even as Bull shuffled forward on his chair, closer to her. He reached forward, hand brushing up along her side to rest on her collarbone between her breasts. She should have been trying to pull away, but she was caught by something in his gaze.

“I think I know where mine is,” He said, as his hand moved up to cup the side of her neck, fingers slipping under her tunic, tugging at the leather thong that was tied there. He drew it out with deliberate slowness, ignoring the way she trembled, from exhaustion, pain and nervousness all, his gaze pinning her in a manner that she didn’t know how to defend herself against.

“This,” He said, voice a low rumble, “Is mine.”

She couldn’t look at him, she couldn’t look away. “How long?”

“It didn’t come back all at once, but –” He hesitated when she glared at him. “Since you said my name.”

Annoyance broke through her stillness, “That’s entirely unhelpful,” She scolded, “I must have said your name dozens of –”

“Kadan.”

She fell quiet.

He bent over her slowly, touching his forehead to hers, eye sliding closed.

“You only said my name once.”

_Surprised stiffness, tearing in her stomach, shock so great that it didn’t even hurt. She looked down, saw polished steel, felt her brain shudder, felt her mind go blank –_

“Vhenan.”

His eye opened, something dark and strong glittering in its’ depths. “Yeah,” He said, and she almost laughed at the inanity of it, even as he leant forward and kissed her.

She made a small sound as pain shot through her, protesting her movements as she tried to press up into him. He gently caught her, held her up, as a lightness buoyed her.

She kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there! Just the epilogue to go after this. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for sticking through all those cliffhangers!


	18. Epilogue

The Inquisitor was asleep.

The Inquisitor whom Bull called Kadan, who kissed him like drowning and made his heart fit to soar. The Inquisitor who smiled like the sun and who could bring him to heel with a word if she wished, even as he knew, _he knew_ , that he owned her as much as anyone could own another person.

The Inquisitor with whom Bull wasn’t being entirely truthful.

(No, that was just a little bit of bullshit there, he was never entirely truthful with anyone, but he figured he was normally more so than he was right now.)

Bull reached out to the sleeping form on his bed, brushing her hair out of her closed eyes. He didn’t sigh, but he did lean back in his chair and tilt his head so he could study the small form in his bed more accurately.

Waif of a thing, she was.

A waif of a thing who’d come after him when he’d been taken, who’d called him back with a cry of his name - not the one the qun had given him or the one he’d given himself but his _name_ , that thing which she called him in the same way he called her _Kadan_ \- who’d decided even then that it hadn’t been enough when he’d told her not to chase him and had sought him out at a risk to herself that was damn near stupid and…

This time, Bull did sigh.

She’d sought him out because she loved him.

He’d let her bring him home because he loved her. He knew that. Knew it as sure as breathing, deep in his bones and tattooed in his guts so thick and dark he’d never get rid of it.

Only problem was he didn’t know _why._

Fuck, that didn’t sound right, because objectively he did. Objectively he knew that she was brave, clever, skilled, easy to tease; but he’d known many a person with those characteristics before and they’d never pulled at him the way she did, he’d never fallen in love with any of them. If you’d asked him a year or two ago about what love was, and he would have said it was a lie other people told themselves to make them feel better about fucking someone.

Maybe it still was.

He looked at her, really looked. Tried to work out why his heart ached the way it did, why he wanted to pull her close and keep her safe, to shake the stupid out of her when she got ideas like crossing Skyhold at night with a damn near evisceration still healing like it was, why he wanted to breathe her in and hold her down and tease her so bad until she forgot every thought in her head but his name and the word ‘more.’

And Bull, well.

He’d always had a type.

Nothing about appearance, though the red hair certainly helped, he’d always been drawn more to competence and charm, to dry, terrible humor and shitty puns, to intelligence that was more than just knowledge, but also the application of it to whatever task was at hand. Shit, that sort of practical learning that made barmaids at times more appealing than the most booksmart, attractive noble. Shit, formal learning could go die in a hole, but _competence_ -

And the Inquisitor had that, but so did, say, _Dorian_ , and Bull didn’t want to fuck him.

(Well, not entirely true there, either, but Bull’s heart didn’t want him the same way it yearned for the Inquisitor, like a ship yearning for port in a storm, which was the point at hand.)

But again he found himself drawn to the sticking point of _why_. Why was a puzzle, one that had Bull casting through his thoughts for answers, prodding at the hollow, empty places that rattled inside him and stunk of Ben Hassrath, trying to cast for an answer and coming back, each time, with an empty net.

And that pissed him off more than anything, because damn it if he hated hatchet jobs - they were messy and unnecessary, particularly when a little time and care made everything so much neater, and it was exactly what the qunari had done to him. The fact he remembered that he loved the Inquisitor at all was proof enough for this - the fact that he couldn’t remember why just stank of laziness.

He ran a hand over his face.

“Not gonna get an answer to this shit just by sitting here,” He muttered to himself.

Still, he sat a little longer and indulged in the Inquisitor’s face, in her smooth skin and sharp features. He ignored the way that her lips were a little too pale, that her freckles and scar stood out a little too much on her normally darker skin and let himself _feel_ . He brought forth and basked in the same consuming desire to protect and cherish that hed felt in the woods, in the way his heart pulled in his chest like a wounded, broken thing. He let himself want, let himself need, let himself _love_ and let himself feel, just for a moment, the anger that rose in his gut as he thought of what the qunari had done  - not to him, no, that was to be expected when he was Tal Vashoth, but to _her, her her_ \- in order to try and achieve their goals.

 _Why?_ He asked his heart as it roared rage at any that dared hurt the elf on the bed in front of him, _Why?_

It gave him no answer, save for _love._

\---

The missives that Bull had liberated from the qunari were spread between himself and Leliana, nearly matching the spymaster’s inscrutable nature with their own.

Thankfully, Bull’d had practice with things that were inscrutable.

“Why did they come here?” The spymaster was speaking with that delicate lilt - the one that came out when she was trying to keep quiet about just how much she knew, the one that people mostly didn’t notice as they fell to her charms through a combination of awe, terror and lust, the ratio of which varied from person to person.

Bull wasn’t afraid of Leliana, never had been, even when she’d made it clear that she was watching him at the start, that _she_ didn’t trust him, no matter Lavellan’s call, that she was going to watch, and read and listen to everything he did because she’d worked with qunari before and knew that they didn’t behave the way he pretended to.

Damn the Arishok for getting to Leliana first - that was a damn high bar for Bull to live up to, particularly with the fact that the Arishok never damn fell that Bull knew. Maybe he’d been different when Leliana knew him, when he’d just been a Sten. Bull wondered if he’d been shaped at all by his time in Ferelden - if it in turn would shape Qunadar yet in interesting and unpredictable ways. Stupid sayings about wind from butterfly wings aside, Bull knew that sometimes it was the small things that mattered.

They changed things like the answers to _why_.

He schooled his expression before his emotion could show in any way and leaned forward, resting his hands upon the table in front of him.

“They wanted to start a war.”

Best be frank, best tell her what she asked him for. Let her work out the pieces.

“They were going to try and kill her.”

He didn’t say they’d nearly succeeded, he’d already put enough obvious in front of the spymaster that any more might piss her off.

“And the missives?”

That, at least, was easy enough to answer. “A gift,” Bull said, “They were hidden, but not in a place I wouldn’t think to look. Tama knows me - if she didn’t want us to find this, I wouldn’t have.”

Leliana nodded, flicking absently through the papers. “Can we trust them?”

Bull let himself shrug, “I take it you’ve already cracked the codes?”

“Yes, and that was not an answer.”

He let himself smile at that, “You’re right,” He said, “It wasn’t.”

He almost left it at that, almost didn’t say more, but he knew that wasn’t the agreement he’d made with Red, the one that the Inquisitor didn’t _really_ know about, the one where he’d told her that he’d be as frank with her as he could, even let her read the missives he’d been sending back to qunandar before he sent them out. She knew he was just the open face of the network and that there were other qunari as well, ones in the ranks that even he hadn’t known about, that maybe she had, but the polite face of the game was still a _face_ , and in turn she’d let him have more information than he should as well.

It was a ploy, always had been - helped the people in qunandar sort through what the Inquisition _wanted_ them to know and what-the-shit-else they could get on the institution and in turn gave the Inquisition the same information to a lesser extent. Just another game.

But he wasn’t qunari anymore.

He reached out and picked up some of the papers, letting his eyes flick over the qunlat - comforting in the way that only the language of _home_ could be, and at the same time, inspiring wariness of what it contained.

“You can trust it,” Bull said, “Not sure if it’ll be useful. All it really says is that they’re pulling back as much as they can. They were gonna do that anyway whether the plan worked or not, but the reason why might change.”

 _Why?_ Echoed Bull’s mind, suddenly full of a flash of red hair splayed over white sheets , blood on snow, _Why? Why? Why?_

Leliana nodded, chewed on her lip thoughtfully for a moment that Bull knew was just as calculated as his insouciance. “If they’d killed her and started the war they believed would follow, it would make sense to watch at a distance and then move in to ‘save us’ from ourselves.”

“But she’s alive,” Bull said, nudging Leliana along to the conclusion he’d already made.

“She’s alive, and they are still reducing their operations in Ferelden and Orlais.” Leliana said, looking at the spread of information in front of her.

Bull didn’t want to push again, Leliana started to become suspicious of his leading her if he did it too often, but this was a point that she needed to see. Something he’d noticed in the dark hours waiting for Kalasin to wake, waiting for an answer to the _why_ that nagged his thoughts as she slept, that meant he’d pursued the qunari’s missives himself and followed them to their inevitable destination.

“Why Ferelden and Orlais?” He said instead, getting a glare from Leliana for his trouble.

He raised his chin in acknowledgement of that, it _was_ too heavy handed.

“The Inquisition,” Leliana said, “Of course. They couldn’t use the positive reputation of the Inquisition to start a war so they remove the presence of the common enemy.”

“Popularity never lasts,” Bull agreeed.

And an army squatting on the border of two of the most powerful nations in Andrastrian Thedas was only popular in so far as it had walls to be throwing itself against - a religious crusade that kept its’ attention away from the possibility of snapping up Orlais’ wealth or Ferelden’s abundant arable lands. Oh, they’d tolerate the Inquisition for a while yet, the grattitude was still there, but with no-one snapping at the heels, eventually Lavellan’s golden polish would wear off.

It shouldn’t, Bull quieted the snarl of his heart complaining that no-one should get tired of Lavellan, but it didn’t change the fact that eventually, it would. People were bastards like that.

“Why tell us this?” Leliana asked, flicking through the pages of intel in front of her, “Why _warn_ us about what is coming if they know there’s nothing we can do to prevent it?”

Gather troops to fight the qunari when they came back and make it look like you’re preparing an attack on Orlais or Ferelden, do the same but _slower_ and Orlais and Ferelden forgets there once was a threat and turns on you anyway.

Bull shrugged, “Courtesy,” He said, “Apology.” Both, coming from Tama, neither when coming from qunandar. When they came from qunandar, they were a, “Threat.”

“It is amazing how your race can say so much with so little.”

Bull smirked, “I’ll take that as the compliment it was intended to be.”

Leliana gave a faint smirk that echoed his own. “The last missive, the one you didn’t give me - ”

“It’s not important, and it’s not for you.” Bull said, smirk falling away into a flat look the moment she mentioned it. The letter that had been amongst the other things but had been addressed to _Ashkaari_ sat alone and unopened in his room, tucked into a book between two other books where people wouldn’t think to look for it.

A quick flash of anger showed on Leliana’s face - a tightening of her jaw there and gone so fast that Bull could have thought he’d imagined it if he didn’t trust his read of people so completely. She wanted to push, Bull knew, their conversation about _loyalty_ still hovering just behind their thoughts in both their minds, the threat of a knife in the dark still strong between them.

Which was really how it should be. How it always was, before. Probably how it always would be even if he never spoke to another qunari again in his life. Leliana didn’t trust him and his Kadan trusted him too much. Together they balanced each other out and the truth of who he was hovered in the balance, flickering closer to one or the other depending upon who he needed to be at just that second. Leliana, Bull knew, would keep Lavellan safe from him.

And if there was anything that had been proven the last few weeks by the qunari, it was that there needed to be someone in place to do that.

“It might be important,” Bull said, “but it’s still not for you. I haven’t read it, you’re sure as _shit_ never going to read it, so let’s leave this here where it’s still friendly, Spymaster, and meet up again tomorrow.”

Bull delivered the words in a tone he’d spent years perfecting - cold but still amicable, a harsh warning under the cheerful tone. Leliana’s mouth pulled into a tight frown, her fingers tightened on the tabletop. She didn’t want to leave it there, he could tell, but she would.

They always did, when Bull stopped playing nice.

\---

The Inquisitor was awake when Bull returned to his room later in the day. She was propped up against the headboard of his bed, fingers curled around the spine of a book, a lingering smell of elfroot and embrium lingering in the air that told of a recent visit from the surgeon.

“I am in trouble,” She announced, though she didn’t look up from her book, “For activities both dangerous and recklessly idiotic that could have put my life in grave peril, pun apparently not intended as I got smacked on the arm when I laughed at it.”

This speech was accompanied by the lilt her voice took on when she was quoting someone. From the fact that the book was Swords and Shields, Bull guessed that she was quoting Cassandra.

“Seeker’s been by, then?”

“Divine, come Thursday week. Did you know that it was that soon? She has barely enough time to make it to Orlais - I have the feeling that she’s trying to escape her duties after tricking me into mine all that time ago.” His kadan sighed, book flopping down into her lap, “And this really is a terrible story. I don’t know how she manages to read it. I don’t know how Varric managed to _write_ it without gagging.”

Bull smiled, settling his weight down on the edge of the bed nearest to where she was propped up, reaching out a hand to cup her face. His heart thudded in his chest, a counterpoint to the _why_ that still rolled through him, but it was quieter now that her eyes were alive and quick on him, easier to be passed aside for the soft smile she flashed at him.

Bull took the book from her and folded it closed, placing it aside on the pile near his bed, not even glancing at the spine of the third book down where Tama’s letter rested.

He tried to ignore the nervousness that hovered in the air, the buzzing anxiety that flicked off Lavellan’s skin like electricity sparking from her mark. Hovering between the two of them was the cloud of what had happened the past few weeks - the events and shifting loyalties and dangers that had taken them into those woods and changed the people they’d left behind.

She knew, because she knew people and she _saw_.

He wondered if she knew that he didn’t know _why._

He wanted to kiss her, to drag his lips and hands across the parts of her that he could reach, to put the question of why aside while he focused on the more important _who and what and how_ , but as she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes and _shook_ , he knew that it wouldn’t be anywhere near as easy to distract her as he’d hoped.

After all, wasn’t that something that she was damn good at? Seeing more of him than he’d ever intended?

She sighed and leaned into his hand, her own coming up to cover it.

“I haven’t told Cassandra,” she said, after a pause, “But the newest Swords and Shields - the last one, the one Varric is writing because I asked him to - it has a happy ending.”

“Yeah?” He asked, because she wouldn’t keep talking if he didn’t, and there was the taste of something in the air, revelations or requiems he wasn’t sure.

“The Guard Captain finally admits to herself that she’s been in love with her lieutenant all along, that all of the terrible flirting and nice-night-for-an-evenings and meaningful looks and fade-to-black trysts of the previous books were leading to one shining moment where she admits to his face that she loves him, that she always has, probably always will. She’s injured, apparently, fresh from a fight to save the city. It’s all very dramatic.”

“Let me guess, he tells her that he’s felt the same way but didn’t know how to say it?”

Her lips flickered in something that could be a smile if it wasn’t hiding hurt. “It wouldn’t be a happy ending, otherwise.”

Bull moved his hand around the back of her neck, to her shoulder, and tugged her gently into him. She buried her face in his chest as soon as she could, her breath shuddering as she exhaled. He leant down, brushed his lips over the top of her head, took a moment to gather his thoughts.

“It’s a book, Kadan,” He said at last, tightening his grip on her before she can pull away, “So there’s only a happy ending because there’s an _ending._ ”

_We don’t get things neat and tied up in bows. We get fuckups and stab wounds and people coming back not all the way right._

He didn’t say that, though. What he said instead is, “We don’t get one of those. What we get is a chance to grow, to find out what happens next.”

She leaned back a little so that she can smile at him. It’s like a thousand smiles he’s seen before and yet unique because it’s hers, because it’s for _him_ and him alone. It’s a dawnstone blade, given to replace one that he couldn’t bear to look at any longer, a mark of what he’d gained by giving up. It’s an iron helmet bathed in irony (hah!) in the shape of a bull skull to offer him protection when applying his vitaar took too long with hands far too shaky. It’s a breath of solely focused attention in an absent moment, things remembered that were mentioned offhand, a closer attention paid to personality than physicality.

And -

Oh.

_Oh._

His heart roared in agreement.

He leant forward and let his forehead press against hers, breathing in the smell of her, covered as it was with elfroot but still _there_ , present and warm like soap and woodsmoke and the earthy scents of a forest in the first days of a new spring. “Besides,” Bull said, “If this was an _ending_ , it’d mean that the bastards who tried to tear us apart won, even if only a little bit, and I won’t have that shit on my watch.”

She laughed, her eyes meeting his, “Is that so?” She asked, smile turning into a smirk that pulled at his insides, her fingers finding his chest and sliding a little further down than was acceptable in polite company.

Good thing he wasn’t polite.

\---

As much as Bull wanted to, he didn’t _actually_ have sex with her. Stomach wounds tend to split when subjected to strenuous physical activity and as much as he wanted her, he wanted her _alive_ more.

So heavy petting aside, warmth pooling in his belly and things getting a little more handsy than was wise, nothing actually happened. A fact that he was incredibly grateful for when the surgeon came in late in the evening and Lavellan’s lips were flushed red as her cheeks, bruised and bitten to match her neck, her shirt hitched a little too high, sitting unevenly even for her hasty tug to get it back in place. The surgeon’s raised eyebrow was more eloquent than something without a mouth had any right to be, and Bull found himself banished from his own bedroom with nothing but a proud grin to defend himself.

Not that he really cared about defending _himself_.

So with not much to do he headed through the doorway of his room that lead to the second floor of the Herald’s Rest, moving down the stairs to his seat in the corner. It looked like it had been untouched while he was away, same as it always did, with Krem and the other Chargers at a table nearby, already in their cups. His lieutenant gave him a cool nod, something that was a little bit friendlier than he’d been since he was back and a little bit warier than it would have been before he went away, but that was good. That showed that his boys were learning, changing, adapting as they should.

He needed to take them out again, he thought, something that was just him and his boys, something that was about being a mercenary and working for money instead of just a cause (or was it a just cause? He never quite got the difference between those two). As he watched, Dalish brushed something from Skinner’s shoulder, Rocky clinked his flagon to Grim’s and they both took a long swig, Stitches laughed at something that Skinner said, and the laughter rippled from him through them all as Bull sank down into his tavern throne.

“Chief,” Greeted Krem.

“Aclassi.”

They went back to the way they always were quickly after that, drinks and jokes the kind that no-one else but them would think to laugh at.

And Bull felt the gaze on his neck when he turned to say something to Dalish.

He couldn’t say what about the man grabbed his attention when he looked back - he was nothing special to look at, plain clothes, plain hair, plain build. Human, but nothing really special, a knife on his belt and another in his boot. He was drinking, not enough to get drunk, sticking quiet and looking about instead of meeting anybody’s eye.

Bull frowned when the man looked at him again.

There was a spy in the Herald’s Rest.

Bull met the man’s eye, raised his remaining eyebrow and looked away.

“So Aclassi,” He said to his lieutenant, “Heard of any good contracts recently?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking through this! There's deliberately a few elements left open-ended. Your interpretation if Bull opened the letter or not, or what happened to the qamek that was brought back, and what happened to Gatt and Tama on their way back to qunandar, if they even went. Let me know what you think in the comments!
> 
> On that note, thank you for everyone who left kudos, who commented, who made my day a little bit brighter just by dropping by and having a look! I hope you enjoyed the story!


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